


(Re)Entangled

by LadylikeFoxes



Series: Thread of the Fox [3]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Don't copy to another site, Dragon Age Lore, Dragon Age Spoilers, Dread Wolf vs Falon'Din, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, F/M, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Non-Canonical Violence, Non-Linear Narrative, Past Rape/Non-con, Past Sexual Abuse, Physical Abuse, Post-Dragon Age: Inquisition, Rape Aftermath, Rape Recovery, Recovery, Sexual Abuse, Solavellan Hell, Triggers, about a year and a half after trespasser, canon adjacent?, it's gonna get a little tense in here, pre-DA4
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-13
Updated: 2019-08-23
Packaged: 2019-09-17 07:20:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 20
Words: 49,480
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16970235
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadylikeFoxes/pseuds/LadylikeFoxes
Summary: The Veil didn't fall as smoothly as planned, and Falon'Din has the idea that the ex-Inquisitor is the key to taking down Fen'Harel.A year and a half after Solas learns his Vhenan is more powerful than he anticipated, he finds himself attempting to hide her safely away from his enemies and re-entangled in feelings that would have been kinder left in the past.





	1. Hello, Old Friend

The Fade flexes and shimmers, drawing the attention of Fen'Harel. He had been anticipating such a call for weeks. Perhaps they had been more weak than he had thought, gathering their power slowly. The air parted, revealing the familiar dark, hooded figure from his past.

"Hello, Old Friend."

"Lethallen," The Dread Wolf bowed, ever courteous.

"My apologies for not reaching out sooner," The shadowed figure grinned, teeth glinting in the low light, "I had an errand to run."

"Oh? I assumed you were recovering your strength."

The cloaked form laughed, raising into view their grip on the arm of an unconscious body, the sleeping face of whom had been branded into the Dread Wolf's mind. His stomach sank violently.

"You could say that, I suppose," The hooded figure laughed softly, almost pityingly, "We will speak again soon, Brother."

The window closed with a snap, as panic rose in the Rebel Wolf's throat.

 

 


	2. Cruel and Unusual

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Halesta has been kidnapped by Falon'Din. A vague guess is all she has of her location, and she finds herself used as bait for the Dread Wolf––much to her chagrin. She can only hope Solas won't be stupid enough to try to save her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Halesta means "Thread of the Fox", which I use as both a nod to "the red string of fate", as well as a hint at her role in _changing_ the fate of Thedas  
> (shout out to FenxShiral for the name and like, half of the translations)  
> Hale = Fox  
> da'Hale = Little fox
> 
> Wish me luck actually finishing a fic for once!!!
> 
> * * *

It had taken every ounce of strength he possessed to delay his response, but he could wait no longer or he would go mad with fear. He waved his hand brusquely, silently praying that she was alive and unharmed. The Fade wavered, first lax, then tensing before a small opening formed. There she was, conscious, breathing, struggling in Falon'Din's grasp. Silent snarl curling her lip, she glared holes in her captor while he grinned approvingly down at her. He had her kneeling on a threadbare cushion between his legs, hands bound behind her back, stroking her cheek with the back of his hand. Blackened eye, bloodied lip, various other small bruises and abrasions, but she was otherwise in one piece.

"Brother, dear! I was wondering how long it would be before I heard back from you," Slow to raise his eyes from his prize, "Your little toy and I were just getting acquainted, weren't we, love?"

"Halesta," Solas struggled to keep his voice even, though it shook in his ears, "Are you okay?"

At first she appeared to make no discernible movement, not turning to look his way or nod at all. Then he caught sight of the brief, subtle hand signals, unnoticeable to her captor. She was okay, no one else had been taken with her. He nearly showed his relief, making a mental note to thank Laleal for her lesson on their hand signs.

  
"I must say, my dear Fen, you've strayed far from your previous tastes. She's pretty, I suppose, but ultimately unremarkable," Falon lifted her chin with a long fingernail, scrutinizing her small scowling face, "I wonder what it is you find so fascinating about her?"

" _Enough._ "

"Was she particularly challenging to break?"

_"Ha—!"_ Brows rising in amusement at her scoff, Falon'Din smoothed the girl's hair affectionately.

"Oh, she laughs! So you did not manage to break her? _Tsk tsk_ ," He leaned down, grasping her face as he ran his nose along her throat.

"Perhaps _I_ will break her, then," Saccharine, cloying, bile rising in his throat, "What do you think, Brother?"

She spat at her captor but he merely chuckled, the proud uncle of a precocious niece.

  
" _If you harm a hair on her head_ ," Voice strained to the point of breathlessness, Solas's vision grew dark with rage.

"Yes, well...I make no promises, of course," Twirling one of her opalescent curls around a long, skeletal finger, "But I _will_ promise to keep her alive long enough for you to come kiss her farewell."

Challenge issued, smirking wryly, gaunt cheek pressed against Halesta bloodied forehead.

"Where."

“ _Don’t_ come for me––” Her voice ringing in his head, so brief a sound after so many months; Falon wrapped a hand over her mouth

  
"How about...that old Thaig? You know the one. It's filled with the statues of Mother, and her little _dog_ ," Wide grin of too-sharp teeth.

_“Dohnd!”_ Her muffled yell went ignored by both men, though he held her furious stare for a moment.

That was all he required. Solas waved a terse hand, snapping the Fade window shut, and called for his Lieutenant. He would be gone for a while; how long, he wasn't sure. Continue with all operations as planned. No attempts should be made to contact him. He would send word as soon as he was able…. All this, yet he had carefully neglected to mention that this little solo mission of his was of a quite sensitive and _personal_ nature.

 

* * *

 

After Solas had closed the portal, Halesta had expected Falon'Din to return her to her cell. Well, it was actually an ancient, abandoned Dwarven bedroom, and admittedly fairly roomy; but a prison is a prison, no matter how spacious or finely furnished. When he did not immediately have his undead soldiers come carry her away, she felt her first twinge of fear. Being a pawn or bait was not scary. That Falon'Din, most bloodthirsty of the Elvhen gods, wished her to remain longer in his company? The blood froze in her veins.

"So. You are _Halesta_ , hmm? Your mother must have had quite a cruel sense of humor," Falon continued to stroke her hair sweetly, "Silly me, I had nearly forgotten there must be a name behind your title, Inquisitor."

She swallowed hard. _How_ _dare_ he speak of her mother. But she would not dignify him with a response. He tilted her head back so she was forced to meet his empty black gaze. He kept looking at her with such bizarre tenderness, it both infuriated and unsettled her.

"Oh, look at your little nostrils flare! Just like a little rabbit," A deep, fond chuckle rumbled in his chest, "Oh no, that's right! A thousand pardons, da'Hale."

He stood, effortlessly pulling her upright with him. Arm around her shoulder, he led her to a long dining table; pulling out the seat just to the left of the table head, he gently pressed her down into it before sitting beside her. With a clap of his hands, reanimated corpses entered, carrying obscene amounts of food and placing trays, bowls, and tankards down the whole length of the table. Halesta eyed it all in vague horror, wondering where it had come from, and why there was so much. Were they to be joined by others? More enemies?

"You must be hungry, little one," Falon filled a golden chalice, placing it in front of her before filling his own.

She flicked a withering glance at her host. She wasn't a fool. He took a long drink from his goblet, lowering it with a pleased smile.

"Oh, come now. I promised your Dread Wolf that I would not kill you, and we gods keep our word."

"You didn't say you would not kill me," By force of habit, she thrust her chin out defiantly, squaring her shoulders and sitting up straight, "You said you would keep me alive long enough for him to say goodbye. There's a lot of room for interpretation there."

"Oh, how very clever!" Falon'Din leaned forward, resting his sharp chin atop his fist.

"I've known enough gods to learn their fondness for half-truths and abstractions."

"Ha! Ah yes, our Fen'Harel loves to dance around the meat of it, doesn't he," Humming dotingly, he tilted his head.

Lightly slapping his hands on the table, he moved to refill his cup, chucking at her start at the sudden movement.

"Nonetheless: I have no intention of poisoning, or otherwise dispatching you, any time soon, little fox," Pushing her chalice further toward her, "I am far too curious how a slip of a mortal like yourself came to play a role in all of this, and what that role may be."

  
Slowly raising her cup to her lips, never taking her eyes off her host, Halesta allowed the wine to barely brush her lip. Softly inhaling, searching for a hint of any harmful or dangerous herbs or tonics meant to loosen her tongue or render her defenseless. Still as stone she sat, waiting for a tell-tale tingle on her lip as the scents fell to rest on her palate. Falon’Din merely watched, smiling curiously and giving her another once-over. Satisfied that the wine was as safe as it could be, given her circumstance, she took a sip and observed him. He was a finger or two shorter than Solas, and (if possible) even more sharply featured. Thinner, as well; though his shoulders were still broad. Pallid skin, almost sickly, exaggerated by long black waves and dark fathomless eyes. She could only imagine how terrifying he would be when angry. She was rather surprised he hadn’t killed her already for spitting at him.

“There, now. Are you satisfied I haven’t poisoned you?” She merely arched a brow in reply, he smiled brilliantly.

“I have a friend who would enjoy this vintage,” It was an offhand remark, unnerved by his ceaseless staring.

“Our little Wolf?” Falon leaned forward, looking like an Orlesian noble thirsty for gossip.

“Do you _really_ think Fen’Harel is the _only_ person I know?” She caught herself, reeling in her composure as she squirmed in her chair.

He tossed his head back, a low, rumbling belly-laugh rolling from between bright, glistening teeth. For the briefest moment, there even appeared to be a tear at the corner of his eye. When he calmed down, he looked at her again, and Halie had the strange sense he only now actually saw her. She wished he didn’t.

“You’re right, of course,” Reaching over, he plucked a grape from a nearby tray, “So then, who is this wine aficionado friend of yours? A lover?”  
  
“No,” Rolling her eyes as he popped the grape in his mouth, “ _A friend_. One with whom I share a bond of mutual affection, exclusive of romantic, sexual, or familial relation. Friend.”

“Careful with that sharp tongue of your, love,” He warned, though still smiling, “Tell me, what about your parents?”

“Dead,” She took the new grape he offered her, first smelling it delicately.

“Siblings?”  She hesitated a moment, then swallowed.

“Dead.”

A slow grin broke over his face, having caught interest in her reaction. She mentally cursed herself; felt her nose twitch, another curse. Falon’Din was leaning forward again, offering her another grape as he watched her face intently.

“Ah, but not all of them!”

“That depends on your definition of sibling,” Her lips pursed, gesturing a refusal of the proffered fruit, “You call Fen’Harel _‘Brother’_ , though it seems backhanded. More of a tongue-in-cheek remark on your so-called shared status.”

  
“You’re a clever little thing, aren’t you?” His smile was tense, and she had the impression she was skating on thin ice.

“Not particularly, no,” Half-shrugging, she considered the grape still in his fingers before gently taking it, “Not clever enough to not be in this situation, right?”

Popping the fruit in her mouth, she watched him, all too aware of how helpless she was. Falon’s smile relaxed a bit and he chuckled appreciatively under his breath. Leaning forward, once again wrapping a loose curl around around his finger, he breathed in her scent. He was uncomfortably close, and without an audience to play to; she knew something horrible was coming.

“There is a great power in you. I can almost _taste_ it,” Low purring, sending fear prickling over her skin, “You don’t even know it’s there, do you? Well, don’t you worry. We’ve got all night for me to root it out. And if you’re a good girl and don’t fight it, you may even enjoy yourself….”

 

* * *


	3. Healing, the Natural Way

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Solas helps Halesta escape....

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a heads-up: How and why Halesta still has the power of the Anchor will be addressed later, but for now, just know that she managed to save the Orb, but refused to return it to Solas.
> 
>  
> 
> Var lath vir suledin = Our love will endure  
> Dalen = Little one  
> 
> 
> * * *

Halesta sat alongside the comforting wolf statue, clenching white-knuckled to a stone paw, measuring her breaths. Somehow, she had survived the night. Somehow, she had been so careful, remained so steadfast: secrets kept deep, strength hidden, tears denied from falling. Of all the torture, of all the abuse she had lived through before.... But, no. This was not the time or place to collapse. She was still in arms of her enemies, and she would _die_ before showing weakness to _him_. Still, she fought the steady, morbid emptiness that consumed her.

“How long does our Wolf intend to keep us waiting, little one?” He was there again petting her curls, she wanted to vomit; instead she said nothing, remained as still as she could.

“I’ll tell you this, Halesta,” Falon strode away on long legs, leaving her to stare blankly at the Eluvian, “He has _always_ been this egocentric, this self-important, as long as I’ve known him.”

 _Liar. Fool. I know about you, Falon’Din._ She bit her tongue, memories of the previous night tearing violently though her thoughts. Nausea rocked her slight form like an earthquake, she felt as though her brain rattled in her skull. She swallowed gently, forcibly relaxing her hands. _Closed fists are a sign of insubordination_ , Eliana’s voice murmured soothingly in her mind. She closed her eyes; the slow blink Solas had taught her. A small act of rebellion, a moment to center herself. Slowly opening her eyes. _There! Movement behind that rock._ The brief shine of bare scalp, the flick of an ear. She returned her gaze to the mirror’s dizzying swirl, unfocusing her eyes again before Falon turned around. He moved toward her again, lifting her chin to look up once more into his dead eyes.

“He thinks he is the most important piece on the board,” Bending over her, curtain of black hair blinding one eye, “Insufferably proud and so sure of his superior wisdom. But I’m sure I needn’t tell _you_ that, hm?”

It took everything she had not to flinch away from her captor, too far above to follow her gaze. She found Solas with her uncovered eye. Another long, slow blink; she took a deep breath and calmed herself. With the air’s slightest shudder, she heard battle magic hit the barrier cast around her. A soft smile fell over her mouth, a wave of serenity sweeping over her body. When Halesta stood, she felt in control of her power. Solas dropped an invisible force atop the god of Death like a stone. Next he was dragged across the floor by some unseen force, tossed irreverently into a dragon statue. When she stood, she knew exactly what to do.

As if in slow motion, she watched as the scars on her arm lit green beneath her shirtsleeve with the power of the Anchor. A quick flick of her wrist froze the god up to his waist. Fen’Harel spun, Devouring Veil snapping Falon’s focus away from her. It was a familiar action, like sliding fingers into a falconer’s glove, allowing the power twine itself around her hand, pull and snapping the force like a whip. She knew even as she cast it, the Rift Vortex would only throw Falon’Din off balance for a moment–– But Solas was already interlacing his fingers with her other hand, leading her across the floor and through the Eluvian….

* * *

 

Exhaling first, he allowed himself a moment to look her over, relieved to find her in one piece. He ran his fingers over her, briefly cradling her head and neck before smoothing his hands down her arms. She shuddered, near imperceptibly flinching away.

“Solas––”

“No time. Come,” Holding her hand, it was as though he had never let it go.

He began dragging her across the Crossroads to the next Eluvian, but she resisted, attempting to stop him. Throwing her over his shoulder and ignoring her objections, he passed through one mirror, and then the next. He couldn’t recall if he had ever before been so grateful for her small size as he was through the next few panes of glass. He finally was able to stop to breathe, struggling to stay as quiet as possible. She made to comment, but he covered her mouth, raising his eyes and listening carefully .

“You always were a coward, Brother, but I’ll grant you your head start,” Distantly, Falon’din called out; his voice echoing throughout the floating fragments of the library. “And be sure to tell my little fox: she can run and she can hide, but eventually I _will_ find her.”

  
They stood still for a long moment, his hand still clasped over her mouth. With the abrupt inability to sense their pursuer, Solas relaxed, allowing Halesta to step away from him. Surprised by her behavior, he studied her. Her hair was shorter, framing her face in a silvery opal halo, cut just below her jaw; but otherwise she appeared much the same as when they last met. Aside from the evidence of her recent trauma, that is. The minor cuts and bruises smattering her skin, her blackened eye, split and swollen lips, the way she held herself tightly, avoiding his attempt to make eye-contact.  

“What has he done to you,” Whisper strained with desperate horror, he reached out to stroke her face, but she pulled away.

“I’m fine,” She still refused to meet his eye, turning away, “I told you not to come for me, Solas.”

“You act like I had a choice.”

“You’ve left me in dire situations before,” Whipping her head around, spitting venom, “It didn’t bother you then. _I don’t need you to save me_.”

He felt the suffocating anger and frustration spread through his chest, rising thick in his throat. _No, she is right. And it is not her fault, she cannot understand, she does not know._ A deep breath to calm his nerves before attempting once more to place a hand on her shaking shoulder.

“How did he manage to take you, anyway?” She stiffened at his touch, but allowed it, keeping her face turned away and hidden behind a thicket of curls.

“Does it matter?” Wavering weakly, the tears audible in her voice.

He turned her to face him, tenderly lifting her chin and brushing the hair back. Her eyes were closed tightly, tears flowing unrelentingly over red, puffy skin, and lips parted in silent sobs that racked her body. _Oh_ . Whatever Falon’din had done to get her, it had been unspeakable. Pulling Halie into his arms, fury and hatred for his once-kin roared anew in the very depths of his soul. _He will pay for this. I will make him suffer._

“Shh, I have you. We’re still not safe here,” How dare he so selfishly involve her in this, “We will find somewhere he will not think to look, and you will tell me what happened.”

She didn’t object, merely allowed him to lead her through still more Eluvians. Eventually her sobs faded, and the only evidence of her presence was her hand tightly clinging to his.

 

* * *

 

She didn’t recall seeing Solas grab the bag of supplies, though, admittedly, she hadn’t been paying very close attention. They were hunkered down in the middle of unfamiliar, rain-drenched woods in some area of the half-fallen Veil, tending to a fire inside the crumbling ruin of a chapel. She sat across from him, curled neatly into herself, nibbling at the crust of bread he had given her. The occasional floating rock or tree made for poor visibility, and there was the unshakable feeling they were being watched; Halesta kept impulsively looking over her shoulder, waiting to be caught.

“Relax, Dalen,” His attention still on the flames, “There is no one near, and I’ve set up wards for any passing Spirits or creatures.”

Haunting, the sight of him leaning over the fire in his undershirt, sleeves pushed up to his elbows, deft hands carefully rearranging tented kindling...the ease of his company. They had been here just five years ago, before all of the truth came out, before the betrayal and spying and their secret war. She felt as safe with him now as she had then, finding the same comfort in his proximity, his touch, the sound of his voice. _She hated him_ .

“How are our friends?” Flickering glance, appearing pleasantly neutral, “Master Tethras, Master Pavus, The Iron Bull?”

“They’re well,” She refused to volunteer information, despite his probably already knowing.

“And Laleal? Are she and Sera thriving?”  
  
“Happier than ever.”

“Abelas?” Coyly looking up through his lashes, tone rich with insinuation, “and Lady Trevelyan?”

She took a deep breath, closing her eyes as she attempted to relax the knotted muscles of her jaw. Her nostrils had flared again, earning another silent curse. _Of course_ he knew. Why should she have supposed otherwise? His spies were everywhere.

“ _Revas_ and Ser Dylis are well, also,” She failed to smooth the sneer that curled her lip.

“Revas. So, he found a new name after all,” Something crossed his face that she couldn’t name, “Good. I am glad.”

“ _Are_ you?”

It was less of a question than an accusation. His brows rose and fell briefly with churlish concession, a half-shrugged caught and aborted. She watched him shift uncomfortably, taking this as a score settled for his pointed inquiry into her personal life. They settled into a tense silence, each sizing the other up.

“You cut your hair,” His smile was friendly, but there was something of an apology around his eyes.

“It’d suffered too much damage,” Chin on her knees, bitterly averting her gaze, “The past caused too many split ends.”

“It is nice.”

“You liked it better long,” A scolding look, calling him out.

He ducked his head a bit, having the grace to look ashamed. For a while, the only sound was the snap of the tinder and her chewing the coarse bread. She could feel his eyes on her like touch: grazing across the cut on her cheek, brushing softly over her broken lip, coming to rest on the dark bruise around her left eye. How dare he look at her so tenderly, so heartrendingly, after leaving her at the Crossroads nearly two years before. She felt the tears burning, trying to well up again. He had turned his back on her. _“Var lath vir suledin!” “I wish it could, Vhenan.”_

“How did Falon’din capture you?”

Shrugging half-heartedly, she reached for the leather cord wrapped around her wrist. She looked ridiculous when she tied it around her head to keep her hair from her face; she didn’t care. She didn’t feel compelled to impress him anymore.

“He came through the Eluvian. We were eating dinner––the few of us that remain, I mean. He burst into the Hall with a dozen or so of his corpse guard. Threw Cassandra against a wall like a ragdoll. From what little I saw, she ought to be fine, aside from a few broken ribs. Cullen cut down as many of the dead as he could, but I was gone before he even got close. I’m kind of thankful for that. I couldn’t bear it if any others had gotten seriously hurt on my behalf….”

His gaze was steady, absorbing her words as she spoke.

“I know we’ve not exactly been on speaking terms for awhile now,” Halie looked up sternly, fixing him with bitter disapproval, “But a heads-up that you lost control of the Eluvians would have been appreciated.”

“You have my sincerest apologies. To be frank, I was not aware of the partial breach until after I was first contacted by Falon. My people are working to rectify the situation, I assure you.”

“Well, _goody_ for you,” Unconsciously touching her battered face.

Shying away when Solas moved over to her, reaching out with deliberate slowness, she caught his wrist. She declined his attempt to heal her, telling him they were her wounds to heal, the natural way. He sat back on his heels, his face a mask of sincere confusion married with concern that brought to mind a scolded pup. She nearly laughed at the thought, but it turned too quickly to melancholy, like milk souring upon leaving the teet.

“What did he do to you, Halesta?”

His breath broke with anguish. Sea-storm eyes, more aching than she had ever seen them–– Even when he took her Vallaslin and then turned her away. Even when she stood facing him at the Crossroads, having claimed his power for herself. _Var lath vir suledin…._

“Nothing,” She looked out into the dark rain, hesitating. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

His sigh was heavy, and though she knew it was the simple manipulation of her heart, she thought it sounded slightly like _Vhenan._

 

* * *

 

“Halie––! Hals!”

He heard her muffling the crystal around her neck, creeping slowly from her bedroll. She was still too unnerved to stray too far, and with the wall of rain trapping the sound, eavesdropping was no difficulty.

“Dorian!” It helped that she whispered quite loudly, as well, “Dorian, I’m here.”

“My lamb! I’ve only just received word,” The voice of the Altus was easily identified, “Are you okay? Everyone is worried sick, half certain you were dead!”

“We––I got away. I’m okay. Safe-ish. For now. How’s Cassandra?”  
  
“A few broken ribs and worrying herself to death, but she’ll live. Where are you?”

“I...don’t actually know. The Crossroads, somewhere. But I’m okay.”

“Praise the Maker! I swear, I’ll never forgive myself for not being there when you were taken.”

“You would only have gotten hurt, my Peach, and I rather prefer you healthy. Please let the others know Fen’Harel has lost partial control of the Eluvians.”

“ _That_ was already abundantly clear,” Hidden by the dark, Solas scowled at Dorian’s tone, “Leliana is _livid_ . She’s already got her people searching for you, and she’s established her replacement––”

“Hey! Hey. I’m not in immediate danger, but I don’t think it’s a good idea to share, ah, _sensitive_ information. At least not at the moment.”

“Ah. Yes, of course. One never knows who might be _listening in_...” The inflection was meaningful, though Solas could only guess as to what.

“Oh hush, you. It’s...it’s _so_ good, hearing your voice. I miss you, Dor,” Her voice caught, and there was a long pause.

“I miss you, Hals. I love you, you know.”

“I know. I love you even more,” Another moment of hesitation, “I have to go. I’ll update you as soon as I can. Ple...Please be safe. We can’t trust anyone these days.”

“Of course, my Pearl. Promise you’ll come back soon. Preferably alive?”  
  
“I promise, Dor. Kisses.”

“Kisses.”

  
She didn’t move for several minutes, struggling to regain control of her emotions. Before, Solas had felt a small satisfaction when she had pulled her pallet near his. Now he better understood why: she was _afraid_. He felt a pang in his chest at the realization; she climbed quietly back into the blankets behind him.

“You did not tell him that I am with you.”

She sighed, irritated by his eavesdropping, but seeming to understand. He heard the shift of cloth before feeling her bump against his back.

“Out of the hands of one enemy and into another’s?” The distance of her voice indicated she was facing away from him, “It didn’t seem like the best idea.”

“So,” Uncertain, he paused. “So, you trust me?”

“You came to save me, didn’t you?” Her voice broke again, before the static rain settled into the silence.

 


	4. On the Safest Ledge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A short chapter consisting of an unnecessary amount of time arguing where to go, what to do: all while in the shelter of a half-rubble ruin while the rain keeps on.  
> Don't worry, it's gonna get more interesting soon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I named the chapter after the song "On the Safest Ledge" by Copeland which, while not necessarily relevant to this chapter, is (in my opinion) a great Solavellan song.  
>  **Thank you to everyone who is reading and joining in on my fresh attempt to actually re-enter my fanfic passion. I hope and pray I don't disappoint this time!**  
> 
> 
> * * *
> 
> Ir abelas = My apologies / I'm sorry  
> Hahren = Elder; used as a term of respect by the Dalish (+/- by city elves for the leader of an alienage)  
> a serannas = My thanks / thank you  
> Ma bellanar serannas = My eternal thanks/ my infinite gratitude (idk I tried okay)  
>  ****
> 
> * * *

She awoke with grim uncertainty, the memories of the past few days coming to rest with firm swiftness over her conscious mind. Sleep had been restless, vivid, vicious memories of her hours in the hands of the sadistic Falon'Din had massacred any hope of respite. Never had she felt so fragile, and that she should wake in the clutches of the Dread Wolf... How pathetic, how weak. Oh! That reminded her.  
  
A quick search found Solas sitting cross-legged a few metres away, hunched over what appeared to be a patch of dirt in place of some missing pavestones. The sky was comparatively lighter than before, but the rain still came in heavy torrents. Quietly climbing to her feet, she tiptoed to peer over his shoulder. At first glance, there was nothing to see: a smoothed surface of dirt, a few chips of stone, a twig or two. But she knew Solas  better than he would have liked. It was a map, of sorts. Tentative and largely estimated, but it was there.  
  
"Any luck?"  
  
Solas started slightly in surprise, turning to look and finding their faces uncomfortably close. Quickly returning his attention to the ground, his sigh a mixture of relief and irritation.  
  
"Very little. These things change so erratically, it is difficult to establish a direct path."  
  
"Direct path to where?" She came to sit close beside him, but careful that their knees shouldn't touch, "Where we goin'?"  
  
"Well, the first order of business is to return you to Skyhold."  
  
"Oh, yes, of course. Bring me back to the first place Falon would look for me," Nodding with mock seriousness, "Brilliant."  
  
Visibly stiffening, he sighed deeply, pinching the bridge of his nose. He shifted then, adjusting his position so that he bodily faced her, leveling her with a exasperatedly stern stare.   
  
"Don't get me wrong, I'm sure you want me around about as much as I want to here," Trying her best to remain reasonable, "But unless you actively want me dead, you won't take me back to Skyhold."  
  
She looked past him: expression disquiet, voice wavering.  
  
"I will not allow him to take me alive again."  
  
  
"What do you suggest I do, then?" He gazed at her with fresh concern, "As it is, you are technically held captive by your enemy."  
  
" _Pfft_ , I have no objections to being held captive by _you,_ " Grinning when he flinched at her light flirting, "And anyway, I have a new enemy now. A far greater enemy–– Oh, no offense."

“While my pride _is_ rather wounded,” The corners of his lips curling down, “I suppose I will not hold it against you.”

“You can hold anything you like against me,” Fluttering her lashes playfully, earning another reproachful look.

“Honestly, Halesta. Can you not be serious for five minutes?”

“I was serious all day yesterday, and it wasn’t any fun at all,” She got up, bumping his shoulder with her hip and went to dig through his bag, “And anyway, I can’t be serious on an empty stomach. I take it we’re out of bread. It’s too much to hope for some tea, I guess?”

“You know perfectly well I hate tea,” Grumbling back over his shoulder, “And yes, I am afraid last night’s bread was all of our food. We will have to procure some more.”

“Who only packs half a loaf of stale bread for a field mission?” Finding tightly-wrapped package of tea, she blew his tin cup clean of dust before pattering over to fill it with rain water.   


“My apologies. You see, I was in a state of distress,” Scowling side-long at her, “As someone I care very deeply for was in danger of her life. I was obviously not thinking clearly.”

“....‘Care very deeply for’?” She was sure her glottal scoff very attractive, “You’ve mistaken your sense of guilt and misguided obligation for sentiment.”  
  
“Speaking of, I do not believe I received a ‘thank you’,” He was glaring at her, but there was a teasing glint in his eyes.

  
“Thanks for _what_ , exactly? Causing all this in the first place? Screwing up and only tearing down part of the Veil, thus releasing one _very pissed_ Elvhen god? Leading Falon’Din to think I offer some sort of retributive advantage against you? Or were you referring, specifically, to ignoring my demand that you _not_ come to my rescue, and putting yourself in _very_ _serious danger_ , all for the sake of playing Knight in Shining Armor? Well, ir abelas, Hahren! Ma _bellanar_ serannas.”

Huffing with cheeks burning, she maintained eye-contact with an infuriatingly composed Solas. Aside from the arch of a brow, he was looking at her as if she had rattled off a grocery list. Finally, the plush curve of his lips curled smugly into a crooked smirk.

“You did not want me to come,” The low, satisfied timbre nearly raised goosebumps over her skin, “Because you worried for my safety?”  


Rolling her eyes and returning to her tea, she tried to crush the loathsome swell of fluttering in her stomach. The necessity of his company, with the weight of all that remained unresolved between them, was cruelty enough. The last thing she needed was the rekindling of all those early, dizzying, _distracting_ emotions; the ones to blame for this exact situation in which they found themselves. Bringing her knees to her chest, she sipped spitefully at the bitter, musty tea she pilfered.

“Ah, so there _was_ tea,” Glancing back at him, she relished the furrow creasing his brow.

“It’s old. I’m surprised it wasn’t molded,” Taking another sip, she caught the familiar notes of coriander and white poppy, “Hey! This the tea I gave you!”

“Is it? Hm,” Pretending at ignorance, poorly, “Oh, yes. One of your Lark’s Day gifts, if I recall?”

“So,” Her turn to arch a brow and smile unctuously, “Why’d ya keep it?”

“It appears I should be more thorough in tidying my old equipment of litter.”

Well, there was no denying his barb had cut. She shrugged it off with a sigh and returned to staring mindlessly into the rain. Foolish as it was, she couldn’t help but resent the wood for its scents. Evergreen, cedar, wet bark, damp soil, petrichor; all of her favorite scents tainted with their association with _him_ . He still smelled like these, as well as old books, but now there was the addition of oiled leather, armor polish and cold metal. It wasn’t unpleasant, she sat musing with no little chagrin. It was even somewhat exhilarating, the reminiscent scents of battle spurring a quickening to her pulse. _Ugh, the insufferable bastard!_

  
“Aside from the remaining question of what to do with you,” Breaking her increasingly dangerous train of thought, he gestured vaguely to his makeshift map, “And where I might safely refresh my supplies, I believe I have formulated a possible solution to my Falon’Din problem.”

“You mean _our_ Falon’Din problem,” Ignoring his disapproval as she crawled her way over, “So, what’s the plan?” 

“Initially, my concern is to locate a place for you to hide––”  


“Thanks but no, I’m coming with you,” Deadpan, not even bothering with her defiant chin-lift, “And you’re a fucking idiot if you think otherwise. This is _our_ war, Solas.”

It had been a long time since she had seen Solas truly angry. So long, in fact, she had almost forgotten altogether than he _could_ be. He was instantly in her face, hands poised to grab her shoulders, to shake her, but remained in the air at her sides without actually making contact. There was something she couldn’t read in his face, something he felt she should already know but that he wouldn’t say aloud. She tilted her head thoughtfully, studying his face.

“I cannot, I **_will not_ ** allow you to be harmed because of my foolishness.”

“It’s _way_ too late for that, Solas, and you know it. Besides, _if_ you did somehow manage to talk me into curling up and hiding away, turning my back on my family and friends and my _People_ ,” Surprised by her own calm, she rose up on her heels to face him, nose-to-nose.  
  
  
“How long do you think it would take for Falon to hunt me down? He’s _convinced_ he can use me against you: so, to what lengths do you think he would go to find me? How many of my loved ones will suffer and die in his search for me?”

His breath slowly evened, eyes scanning her face for some answer he wouldn’t find there. Bewildered, he watched as her a hand raised toward him; she hesitated a moment, unsure, before pressing her palm over his heart.

“The safest place for me, right now, is with you,” Unsure where this had tenderness come from, skin burning where he placed his hand over hers, “Where we can fight together.”

 

The realization of their proximity was at once overwhelming, she couldn’t bear it a moment longer. Anyway, it was crucial to distract him from any further disputes about her coming along.

“Now! If you can figure out a quick way to get us to the Hinterlands,” Halesta jumped to her feet without warning, all light and smiles, “I think _I_ have a solution for our lack of supplies.”

Dusting her hands off on the worn leather of her leggings, she nearly skipped to rinse the tin mug under the wash of the overhanging roof. On a silly impulse, she stuck her head beneath the falling stream, dousing her curls. Stepping back and tousling her hair, she ran her hands over her face, enjoying the small pleasure of water on her skin. It wasn’t until she saw the bemused expression Solas wore that it occurred to her how it might have seemed a strange thing to do.  


“I believe we can reach the Hinterlands by mid-afternoon,” The hint of a smile in his voice, “Though, I’m afraid we’ll be arriving in a storage room of the Forest Villa.”

“That, actually, could not be more perfect,” Droplets falling from her lashes, Halesta grinned.

 


	5. Your Honor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Halesta leads Solas back into old Inquisition territory, knowing just the friend to visit for help before they officially set off.
> 
> This chapter was almost muchhhhh longer, but I've decided to split it in two, because I'm sick, and it came on just before I could finish pt. 2, so....  
> The title and song lyrics mentioned in this chapter are from the Regina Spektor song, Your Honor, which is a nod to the character featured in this chapter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aura Lavellan belongs to one of my very best friends, wrenbee (on Tumblr), and this chapter was basically an excuse to write her a bit. Regina Spektor is the inspiration for her voice. 
> 
>  
> 
> Andaran atish’an = "Enter this place in peace." A formal elven greeting  
> Aneth ara = A sociable or friendly greeting, more commonly used among the Dalish themselves rather than with outsiders.  
> Lethanavir = Friend to the Dead, another name for Falon'Din  
> 
> 
> * * *

The sun was a bit lower in the sky than he had hoped, but sundown was still far off. The storage room had been cluttered, but Halesta had easily picked the lock so they could climb out with little discomfort. Despite her assurance that the ( _officially_ disbanded) Inquisition patrols were rare these days, she still carefully locked the storage door behind them. _Better safe than sorry_ , she had shrugged; he had the impression her caution had less to do than a scout noticing an unlocked closet. The Forest Villa had been eerily devoid of life, and while Halie seemed to enjoy the cool emptiness, Solas was all too pleased to walk in the warm day air. The Villa and Hafter's Woods already bordered on the very outskirts of the Hinterlands, but it seemed they were headed into the midst of the wilderness.

They kept to the edge of the château’s lake until it broke off into its tributary, then continued to follow it upstream into the thickening wood. Just as he was going to ask if she was lost, he felt it hit him. Like falling from a height into still water, the magic momentarily resisted before allowing him to submerge. The air was thick with wards and spells, and the why became evident as a small cottage came into view. It seemed familiar almost, though he was certain he hadn’t been here before. Settled in a clearing, at first glance it appeared more peat roof than building, but approaching further, white stucco walls peeked from behind their lining trellises. Lovingly tended flowers bordered the stepstone front path, with fruits and vegetable patches hugged the yard’s far side, with a sturdy fence encircling it all.

Standing in the open door, wiping her hands with the apron tied around her waist, was a small Dalish woman. She was a few marked inches taller than Halesta and willowy, fair complexion was olive in tone, hair was dark and her features more angular–– But she had the same messy curls, and wide, almond eyes, that same look of polite suspicion; except for the sage irises, they might have been Halie’s. She watched their advance with a strangely tense ease, like when one stumbles upon a deer. There was that same quality about her, as though she was beginning to run even while she remained perfectly still. As they neared the gate, Halesta gestured for him to fall back a bit.

“Hals?” The woman’s voice was lower, lilting softly melodic, but firm; eyes flickering over to where Solas stood patiently, perfectly aware that something was unusual.

“It’s me,” Halesta gently leaned on the garden gate, fingertips nervously tracing the woodgrain, “I’m sorry for showing up like this, but you’re the only person I can trust to keep a secret for a bit. I’m sure you’ve already heard I’m ‘missing’ or whatever, it’s complicated, but––”

Suddenly, the woman was rushing over, unlatching the gate and throwing her arms around her equally earnest friend. Their foreheads touching, they whispered indiscernibly, each touching the other’s face and hair adoringly. After a long moment, Solas gently cleared his throat, still standing back with his hands clasped behind him. With an embarrassed _Oh!_ and a sheepish glance to her companion, Halesta waved him over.    


“This is Aura,” Halesta kept one hand around the woman’s waist, gesturing towards her with the other.

“ _Aneth ara_ , Aura,” Putting on his most charming smile, “I am––”

“I know who you are, Solas,” She eyed him knowingly, though her composure remained polite, “ _Andaran atish’an_ , I suppose. Come on, then. I’ll put on some tea.”

He was less surprised the more he thought on it: she was obviously very close to Halesta, so of course she would know _something_ about him. None too flattering somethings at that, he was certain. He ducked slightly entering the door; not that he was too tall, but it, as well as the ceiling inside, felt low enough to graze his head. Perhaps it was due to how fitting it appeared for the two petite women. The cabin was cozy with its exposed beams and stone hearth and sunlight flowing in gently from the windows. Halie threw herself lazily into an overstuffed couch before sitting up straight, eyes wide with recall.

“Oh, Aura, your sofa! I’m so sorry! I just plopped myself down without thinking what a mess I am!”

“Silly girl, I garden all day,” Musical voice drifting in from the next room, “You think I don’t have a spell and three tonics for just that reason?”

Aura breezed back into the room on light feet, almost hesitating as her eyes fell again on Solas, maybe having forgotten he was there. Setting the tray on the ottoman, she settled onto one leg, fingering mindlessly at the wooden carving pendant hanging around her neck. Brows raised meaningfully, he struggled to understand until she gestured at the chair behind him; he took his seat.

 

“Would you like your tea now, Hale, or would you rather have a bath first?”

“Well, I have been in in these clothes for half a week,” Shifting uncomfortably as she looked herself over before smirking wickedly at her friend, “But I don’t want to abandon you to Solas’s lacking social graces.”

“I can handle myself,” The woman glanced at him wryly before handing Halie a cup and saucer, “Here, take your tea with you and enjoy your bath. You know where my clothes are.”

“Speaking of which, we desperately need some supplies from town, but we can't really risk being seen––” Raising a hand, Aura tenderly cut her off before nudging her towards the back of the house.  
  
“I need to make a trip to Redcliff anyway. We’ll deal with your shopping list _after_ your bath. You need a chance to relax, there’s no point in arguing.”

Sitting easily in the adjacent chair, Aura spared him a brief, inscrutable glance. The faint sound of the water pump and spilling water was the only noise as she tended to the tea. Even stirring in the honey, the spoon never clinked against the porcelain. She offered him his cup and saucer with barely a nod in his direction.

“I apologize for my imposition,” Holding the set gingerly, it seemed tiny in his hands, “But might I bother you for water instead? I, ah, do not often indulge in tea.”

“Oh, I’m afraid I haven’t any water,” Deadpan and without so much as batting a lash, even as the sound of the bath drew in another room.

 

“Ir abelas,” Feeling strangely chastised, though this woman couldn’t be older than Halesta; a mere child compared to him, “You seem to be very close with the Inquisitor.”

“She’s not the Inquisitor anymore,” Aura glanced at him sidelong, a small smile threatening to tug at her lips, “But you know that.”  
  
“Yes, of course. Old habits….”

“Mm,” Smiling briefly into her tea with some unspoken jab, “I’m of the Lavellan clan. We were playmates as children: Halesta, Laleal, Gal, and I. We might even be cousins, but who keeps track, simple-minded as we Dalish are.”

 

Nearly spitting his tea, he took a moment to compose himself. Evidently, his opinion on the Dalish had been a topic of discussion amongst the two. It was likely the more flattering tales Halie had told her about him.

“I am sure you think the worst of me, and with good reason,” She was attentive, but once again worrying her fingers over another of her necklaces, “There is nothing I can say that will reassure you of my regard for Halie–er, Halesta.”

Aura’s small smile was almost fond. She looked him over once again, yet more appraisingly this time.

“I trust her. If she’s got you in tow, I’m confident she’s got a good reason,” Looking out the far window, her smile acquired a hint of bitter melancholy.  
“After the way you left her before…. Well. Someone should be worried for _you_ , if you hurt her again. All we that love her could threaten your life, but Hals will be the one to take it. There’s only so much a heart can bear, Solas.”

 

* * *

 

While Solas took his turn in the bath, they had moved into the kitchen. On tiptoes, Aura tied up herbs to dry while Halesta attempted to be useful, busying herself with washing and peeling some root vegetables for stew. Aura had already singing to herself since before she had returned; her soft, soulful style, hauntingly beautiful and almost delicate in its melancholic rise and fall. She closed her eyes, the song washing over her senses. Faint scent blooming plumeria and the first pale light of day, underlaid by tangled roots of dark cedar, walking home at dusk alone with pockets full of smooth pebbles.

 _“You tell me that you love me, and you never do lie...and you fight for my honor, but I just don't know why….You fight for my honor and I don't understand….”_  


“Halie, you’ve peeled that potato to nearly nothing,” Starting at the gentle tap at her shoulder, she laughed, abandoning her task to wrap her arms around Aura’s waist.

“Sorry! I got lost in your voice. I wish I could carry a tune,” Her friend chuckled, blushing modestly, “Thank you again for letting us impose on you. Coming out of nowhere, asking you not to tell anyone, sending you to the market for us? I am a terrible friend and an even worse guest.”

“Hardly! It’s nice to have someone to fuss over while Thom is gone,” Affectionately pushing Halesta’s hair out of her face, “And I am so relieved to see you, knowing you’re okay. Though, I will admit, I’m a little concerned about whatever it is you’ve got yourself into this time.”

“Ha! Me too,” Unthinkingly glancing at the door to the hall, “I’ll tell you all about it before bed. Do you mind if I sleep with you?”

“I insist on it,” Her smile teasingly stern, but slowly fell as her eyes followed Halie’s, “But, are you sure you know what you’re doing? I mean, with everything that’s happened and not to mention he’s, well, _him?_ ”

“Yeah, no, not really,” A daunted sigh, “While I’d like to think I’ve learned my lesson by now, it’s not easy being near him again. But the danger here is bigger than both of us, you know? And can I really, in good conscience, let him go gather whatever immense power he needs to stop Falon? Without being there to keep him in check?”

She stepped back, lifting herself to sit on the woodblock island, Aura offered a sympathetic look before beginning to chop the carrots. About halfway through the first carrot, she set down her knife and turned to meet Halie’s curious gaze with wide eyes.

 

“––Falon?” Exhaled with wavering breath, “ _Falon’Din?_ _Lethanavir?”_

Somber nod, Halesta looked away, “The very same. He, er, abducted me.”

“I, I have so many questions,” Fiddling with an amethyst pendant, eyes flitting back and forth blindly.

“Our History, our tales of Lethanavir...to call them mistaken or lies would be understating,” Stumbling over her whispered words, face drained of blood, “He’s a _monster_ , Aura. A psychopathic horror.”

 

The sound of footsteps down the hall drew their attention and, in a glance, they silently agreed to discuss it further when in private. While Aura returned to preparing dinner, Halie looked to see Solas appear in the door. The sight of him, a shirt tossed over one shoulder and sporting a pair of Thom’s old trousers, sent her into uncontrollable laughter; waistband barely clinging to his hips, precariously held up with the help of some rope, and awkwardly high-water length of the legs. Unable to help herself and gasping for breath, she grabbed hold of the giggling Aura for support. Rolling his eyes, he bent to roll the pant cuffs, but a smile was creeping in at the corners of his mouth. Upright, he pulled the overlarge shirt over his head; Halesta allowed herself only the briefest of glances at the smooth skin of his muscled stomach, refusing to be caught staring. Aura subtly bumped her elbow, brows high and eyes wide, appreciative simper safely hidden from notice behind Halie.

“You look almost like your old hobo self again,” His crooked grin in response nearly tipped her off the counter.

“Oh? Dorian and Vivienne would not approve?” Their teasing came so easily, she barely noticed; Aura snorted a laugh.

The evening continued on like that for some time, light-hearted topics and laughter. Unsure whether it was the cozy familiarity of the cottage, or Aura’s quietly tactful playfulness, but Halie found herself in wonder at the relaxed simplicity of it all. A list was made of supplies needed from the market, jokingly suggesting ever more absurd luxuries. Asking after Thom, they turned their hostess a lovely shade of crimson. They discussed gardening, and how Hals couldn’t so much as grow weeds. Solas lavished Aura with compliments on her cooking, eating like a man who had previously only knew the taste of stale bread.

“So, no frilly little cakes for you lately, then?” Speaking without thinking, she realized her mistake before her spoon reached her lips; an awkward silence falling over the table.

“Frilly cakes?” Attempting to salvage the situation, Aura chimed in, “Have you been to Le Masque du Lion Café, in Val Royeaux? Theirs are the best. Berry ones are my favorite.”

“It has been years since I last had one,” A wince briefly passed over Solas’s smile, but he parried gracefully, “Though I must say, the kitchens of the Winter Palace were superb. I prefer the spicy fudge best.”

“Hm,” Halie fought the urge to smile; spoon remaining in her mouth for a moment too long, earning a knowing glance from Aura.

Dinner finished quickly after that, and talk turned to sleeping arrangements. Solas was assigned the guest room, guided upstairs by their hostess while she stayed behind to wash the dishes. Aura reappeared, and with a small smile, quietly joined in the cleaning. Lowering the lanterns, they headed up to bed. As she followed her friend down the short hall, Halie noticed Solas had fallen asleep with the door left open.  


	6. Pirouette

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Solas's point of view as he and Halesta experience a glimpse of what domestic life could have been for them, and he witnesses the unconscious guilt, emptiness, and horrors of her recent memory.  
> This chapter is named after the song "Pirouette" by Made In Heights.  
> • Gentle TW for implied past abuse/torture. •

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Another huge thank you and love to my Wrenbby for letting me borrow her Aura, and to Jo for keeping me going and motivated! I love both of you to death.**  
>  da’halevune = Little moonfox (Solas's petname for Halesta)  
> Ar lath ma = I love you  
> Hahren = Elder; used as a term of respect  
> 
> 
> * * *

 

Aura had left before they woke. He made breakfast, revelling in the simple joy of preparing food in a home kitchen. When Halesta finally ambled down the stairs, on the table was porridge with brown sugar and blackberries, a small ramekin of cream on the sides; Solas secretly relishing her astonished delight to see her favorite meal. Sitting down to join her, he took in the charm of her bedhead, the faint rouge of her freshly washed cheeks beneath her slowly healing wounds, the dark circles beneath her eyes….

“Still unable to sleep?”

“Oh, you know,” A light, dismissive laugh, “I never did get the hang of it. Who needs rest when one has the constant pressure of impending doom to drive them?”

Solas ignored her attempt at humor, “More nightmares? Or still seeking to avoid any chance of happening across me in the Fade?”

“Whichever,” Shrugging, she offered a noncommittal smile, “So, hey, you still haven’t told me our plan.”  


“Ghilan’nain’s Orb,” Frowning slightly, he allowed the change of subject, “The demesne of its power is essentially opposite to that of Falon’Din.”

“Creation and demise,” Nodding thoughtfully at her bowl, “So they should cancel each other out, kinda?”

“Plainly put, yes,” He smiled, feeling strangely proud of her, “Though it is, of course, more nuanced than that.”

“Yeah, well, I only just mastered heating my own bathwater, so,” Wrinkling her nose, mistaking his vague correction for condescension.

“You are far more talented than _that_ , da’halevune,” Not noticing his tongue slip, “You have proven that, both with Falon and before, when you confronted me at the Crossroads.”

“If you say so,” Clearly finished with the topic, she carried her dishes to the sink.

 

Having the house to themselves for the day was, he felt, somehow surreal. They both seemed to be subconsciously avoiding any behavior that mimicked the comfort of a domestic life, each keeping the other at a distance. _This could have been us, could have been our life together_ — The thought was too fantastical, too bitterly regrettable to entertain.

She flitted about on some unfathomable mission; perhaps Aura had left a to-do list for her. Solas let her be, instead diverting himself by skimming through the books neatly arranged atop the mantle. Most were on various household magics, potion recipes, gardening almanacs, etc. There was the occasional indulgent romance or collection of poetry, but one distinct novel caught his eye.

Varric had apparently written a new tale of adventure, clearly based (very) loosely on the Inquisitor. An elven woman of modest origins, overcomes her difficult and mysterious past and, despite all odds, saves her mythical land from the destruction wrought by her former lover; a lover whom, despite his betrayal, she still sought to redeem. The dedication delivered a fresh, piercing sensation to his chest: ‘ _For a brave and compassionate little fox...and the fool too proud and misguided to let her love him.’_  
  
He was certain it had only been a few minutes, yet found himself seated, having at some point begun and read over half of the book. The cottage was silent in the afternoon sun; slow moving world embalmed in honey gold. Through the window was a rare sight. Wading barefoot in the stream, Halesta wore a dress of some light material dyed the color of pale moss. The warm light caught in her opaline curls, one side pinned back from her face, like a crooked iridescent halo. She must have felt his eyes on her, looking up as though waking from a dream before offering him a soft, slow smile. He wandered out of the garden gate and across the lawn towards her, watching as she occasionally gathered a stone from the cold, flowing water.

 

“Are you hungry?” Sitting on the grassy bank, “Time escaped me. I did not realize how late it is.”

“I'm okay, but I can make you something to eat,” Offered with genuine amiability, “What were you doing in there, anyway? Napping?”

“Reading,” She came to sit beside him, smooth rocks hammocked in her skirt, “And no, thank you. I can wait until supper. May I ask why you have been collecting pebbles?”

“For Aura's garden,” Then, with the same soft smile, noting his curious gaze, “A Dalish thing. She'll place them around her vegetables; it's considered good luck.”

Lifting one into the sunlight, she regarded it briefly before handing it to him. On closer examination, it was striated with different bands of color. She had been gathering agate. He nodded his understanding, knowing better by now than to comment on her heritage.

 

 He followed her inside and watched as she stacked them into a small pyramid in the center of the table. Speaking seemed unnecessary, anyway; in strangely melancholic silence, they fell into sync as they began preparing supper. Preparing vegetables, roasting some salted ram meat, setting the table. The sun had just set when their host returned, cheeks flushed from the walk. Solas observed Aura as she entered, light on bare feet, a cautious fluidity to her to steps.

Greeting them with a mere smile, she somehow inherent perceived their slow, deliberate movements, their poignant silence. In a seemingly effortless manner he now thought of as distinctly _Lavellan_ , the dark-haired woman set down her bags and removed her cloak without making a sound. As though feeling his stare, she turned her focus to him. Secrets and strange wisdom, gentle intensity and elegant patience within her leveled eyes. For a long moment, he felt it; like a weight, like she could see into him. As quickly as it had come, it passed: Halesta wrapped her arms around her waist, pressing a kiss to her cheek.  
  
  
“The rest of your things are on the cart in the shed around back,” Aura turned, kissing Halie’s cheek in turn, “I got everything you need, excepting the tonics; I can make those myself.”

“How about you eat first? Solas made dinner,” Nudging her friend gently towards a chair.

“Oh, you cook?” Pretending surprise, teasing.

“Mhm,” Setting the platter down gently before them, “He made breakfast this morning, too.”

“Halesta helped with dinner,” Shyly…. _How strange._

“Oh, that’s a bold-faced lie,” Aura grinned, pointing her fork at him for emphasis, “Hals doesn’t cook. She’s completely helpless in a kitchen.”

Turning to Halesta with an arched brow, she took a bite and half-shrugged concedingly. He didn’t mention it again, letting the conversation turn to who Aura had seen in town, what they had done with their day, happy chatter over the little stack of agate in the center of the table.   


 

• • •

 

He and Halesta had turned in early while Aura stayed up to mix potions, toxics, and poultices for their trip. As was typical when so close in the corporeal world, she was easy to find in the Fade. That she hadn't had a restful nights sleep in an unimaginably long time was primarily evident to Solas due to her inability protect her unconscious mind. She lacked the energy to maintain the lucid tether necessary. Another dead giveaway was a little trick she seemed to have inherited from her mother; Solas wondered if she was even aware of the ability to share her memories thus. He witnessed the events as though he had lived them himself. Seen as though through his own eyes, heard as though through his own ears. Felt as though through his own skin.  
  
He witnessed the first time Abelas came to her, kneeling on the ground before her, swearing his unwavering fealty to her. The first time Halesta kissed him, drunken and morose. The uncertainty on the Sentry’s face, unwilling to give in until she was pleading, teary eyed, for a distraction from the pain. The first, second, fifth, dozenth  time she took him to her bed, sobbing furiously against his skin as she met his thrusts. The time she mistakenly let fall the wrong name from her lips, and the tenderness of the his kiss before she could apologize. When he began telling her, _“Ar lath ma,”_ and how she only ever replied in Common, _“I love you, too,”_ and the weight there, the unspoken understanding.

He beheld the first moment Halie laid eyes on Ser Dilys, their easy flirting. He felt the the difference of their first kiss: the delicate, playful cushion of her lips, how it contrasted to the firm urgency of Abelas. The elastic pressure of curves and muscle entwined with Halesta’s ropey, sore limbs. The heat of Trevelyan’s tongue and slender fingers. Sitting back and watching her lovers bring each other to ecstasy for her pleasure. Having her flesh adored, fawned over, devoured by them both in vain attempt to fill the aching chasm in her chest. Surrendering her body to every debauched suffering and delight while inside she bordered on entirely numb.

Then the face of Falon’Din, and a sudden, blinding flash of pain…. Unfathomably excruciating agony, such that survival seemed impossible and death so distant, but so blessedly welcome. And finally, the worst of it: a nauseating, probing invasion of places in her soul so sacred, never meant to be exposed. A trespassing so unforgivable, impossible to sanitize, unable to be washed clean––All the while, suffering blindly, unable to see her tormentor or his cruel actions. Solas woke with a start, desperately scanning the memory for what Falon had done, fighting back the bile that rose in his throat.

 

Halesta appeared in the doorway almost instantly, eyes red and swollen from recent tears. She had bit her lip hard enough that it was bleeding. He could never have imagined she had endured such... _such––_

“I-I’m sorry to intrude, Hahren,” She didn’t meet his eye, “I can’t sleep.”

“Nightmares?” His voice broke, though just a whisper, and he reached his arms to her.

“No,” Her movements were hesitant and shaky, “Memories, mostly. And guilt.”

Placing her hands in his, palms still sticky from wiping the tears from her face. He raised a hand to lift her chin, she flinched away slightly at the gesture and something shattered like glass in his chest. Still, she let his hand caress her jaw, raising her gaze to meet his. The look in her eyes…. Unable to resist the urge, he pulled her into his lap, cradling her as he hummed her mother’s lullaby.


	7. Hurt Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They've only just set out on their mission, but Solas and Halesta are already at each other's throats. Jealousy tips Solas's hand, and he lets slip that, however unintentional, his current betrayal has Halesta finally may not be able to forgive. Advisory for strong language.  
>  **Important Update:** I'm sorry that my updates are so inconsistent and slow—Due to some current computer issues, I am writing and posting entirely from my phone 'xD  
> Which will probably also mess up the formatting? So I'm super sorry about that, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
> 
> 
> The chapter is named after the song "Hurt Me" by Låpsley 
> 
>   
> 
> 
> Ma'dirth quenathe = "You know why" Vhenan = "My Heart" Lethanavir = "Friend of the Dead", another name for Falon'Din. Banalhan = The Void, place where the Blight is believed to have originated Da'len = "Little one" (In this AU, Solas regularly uses the term as an endearment) 
> 
> * * *
> 
>  

They had risen before dawn, packing their gear in an awkward silence, and with some unconscious urgency. It seemed Aura hadn’t slept at all, though Halesta couldn’t be certain, having fallen back to sleep before she joined her in bed...in Solas’s arms, no less. Despite wearied movements, her sage green eyes were bright as she presented them with a hearty breakfast. She had placed a generous parcel of travel rations next to their bags: various breads, dried meats, jars of pickled vegetables and fruit preserves. She had also prepared a sturdy case of various potions, tonics and poultices, as well as any numerous dried herbs they might require. Such tender care and thorough consideration from her friend brought tears to Halesta’s eyes.

“You have outdone yourself, Sweetpea,” Clinging to Aura tightly, praying she would live to see her again, “I can’t thank you enough for everything you’ve done for us.”

“Oh hush,” Aura smoothed her hair, placing a kiss on her forehead, “You’d have done the same for me.”

Finishing breakfast and apologizing for not helping with the dishes, Solas and Halie completed gathering their things, pointedly avoiding eye contact while lifting heavy rucksacks onto unpracticed shoulders. They said their farewells, Hals suppressed a giggle at Solas’s wide-eyed surprise when Aura hugged him. She kissed both of her friend’s cheeks and hugged her tightly, slyly slipping three small slips of paper into her hand.

A quiet _Ah!_ , and Aura was loosing the knotted scarf holding her mess of dark curls at bay. It had always been one of Hal’s favorites, a lovely pale blue with golden stars peeking between embroidered gray trees; she winked, tucking it neatly into Halie’s bedroll, _for good luck._ Another tug at her heartstrings, another fleeting kiss on the cheek. If they didn’t leave now, she probably never would. With one last wave goodbye, they walked through the garden gate and out into the pre-dawn fog.

 

They walked quickly through the Crossroads in stale, awkward silence–– Just as well, since Halesta hardly had the breath to spare, struggling to match her companion’s long-legged strides. They had only travelled an hour, passing through a mere three Eluvians, before emerging onto a small platform. It was an altar of some kind, encompassed by pungent marshland; it was all very reminiscent of the altar to Fen’Harel in the Crow Fens….

“Are,” Hesitating, she turned a circle to examine her surroundings, “Are we in Ghilan'nain's Grove?”

“Hm? No,” Solas sealed the Eluvian before turning to squint up at the sun.

Without further explanation, he sat and began rolling up the hem of his breeches, removing his sweater and tucking it away securely into his bedroll. She followed his lead with a slight edge of irritation; tugging down her leggings and balling them up with her own sweater, exchanging them for the scarf Aura had given her. If the warm humidity was any means of judgement, he was being honest about this not being the Fens. Despite his attempt at subtlety, she caught his arched-brow glance at her bare thigh as she tucked the excess length of her tunic into her belt. She returned the look with a sneer, taking an extra moment to secure the multiple daggers she had felt so naked without. Sliding the cord securing the final sheath beneath the tunic collar, the knife fell concealed between her breasts.

 

“I don’t suppose you’re going to tell me where we are or why we’re here.”

“We are in the Nahashin Marshes, in the northern west of Orlais,” As brusque as his well-mannered natured allowed, “We are heading to Seralt, where a secure Eluvian can be found. That will take us to Mount Ambrosia.”

“Why couldn’t we just go through the Crossroads?” Bitterly, trudging behind him through the thick, muddy water, “Instead of subjecting ourselves to these damn mosquitos.”

“It is best if I limit your presence in the Crossroads, at least for the time being.”

“It’s ‘best if _you_ limit _my_ presence’, huh?” Nearly whispering now, hissing through her teeth at his back, “Once again, just a pawn in someone else’s _fucking_ game.”

 

He turned on her so suddenly, with such vicious frustration, she nearly lost her balance.

_“_ All morning you have been nothing but cold and vitriolic, as though last night–– _What_ precisely do you believe I gain from your being here, _hm?_ Do you believe this trip is somehow less difficult, having to take roundabout routes and extra precautions for your safety? Perhaps you believe I prefer to be out of contact with my Agents, wandering with you through a mosquito-ridden swamp?”

“ **Then** **why are you?!** Why is the ‘ _mighty’_ Dread Wolf allowing me to _burden_ him so? Why not just drag me through the Crossroads––or are you _still_ trying to keep your precious ancient secrets to yourself!”

“ _Ma'dirth quenathe, Vhen–!_ ” Catching himself, searching her face for a moment before letting out a long sigh; turning to continue, but waiting for her to match his stride.

“Lethanavir. You, ah, the Dalish tales say how he leads the dead to the Beyond, and how he led the Ancients on their journeys in Uthenera. There is a kernel of truth to it; Falon’din and Dirthamen mapped the most distant, remote paths of the Fade, and even a few of the Void’s shifting trails. Ah, how to explain....”  


Finding a small ait, slick with mud but no longer sinking, he once again turned to her. Briefly pinching the bridge of his nose in thought, he finally looked at her, and for a moment she saw that old glimmer in his eye, that joy of sharing knowledge with a willing listener.

  
“When a fly is caught in the web of a spider, the silk reverberates,” Brightening when she nodded her understanding, “Another, similar spider may move across the silk without too much movement, but the first spider will likely still know it is there."

“Okay, and in this scenario, the Crossroads is like a...communal web?”

“Yes, very good. He and I, if we are paying attention, can tell when the other is in the Crossroads. Yet, since my Eluvian network is currently compromised, it is theoretically easier for Falon’Din to target our position,” He straightened up a bit, brow furrowed and running a fingertip over chapped lips, “Unfortunately, your radiance only serves to _his_ benefit.”  

“Have I ever told you how poorly phrased and timed your compliments are?”

Smirking up at him playfully nearly rewarded with her with a smile, but he quickly returned to his previous disposition of sullen vexation. Trudging onward again, she was left splashing in effort to catch up.

“That is not what I meant. Surely you recall Cole’s mention of your, how did he put it, ‘shining’?” Pointedly avoiding eye contact, “ _‘Too bright. Like counting birds against the sun.’_ According to my sources, you shone brilliantly in the Fade even before the Anchor.”

 

She stopped dead, “I don’t believe you were present for that conversation.”

“Pardon?”

“With Cole. I remember sitting alone with him, on the parapet at Skyhold, just before sunset,” She crossed her arms, despite the struggle of the weight on her back, “You weren’t there.”

“Cole often repeated himself,” The half lie was almost believable, but she knew better by now.

“Bullshit. And who are these so-called sources that saw me in the Fade, _before_ the Conclave?”

“It is not my place to say–”

“I swear on my _life,_ if you ever claim to have always been honest with me, I will––” Gripping her curls with both white-knuckled hands, she could feel the molten fury burn under her skin, hear the deafening roar of her pulse in her ears.

 

“Lying by deflection is still lying. Lying by equivocation is _still_ lying. Lying by omission _is still lying, Solas!_ ”

She stormed off in the direction they were headed, thinking to herself that if he were to leave again,she wouldn’t care.

 

* * *

 

 

Despite all his reasoning, knowing that he most of all, had no right...Solas couldn't help but dwell on the images he had seen the night before. Not the torture she had endured at the hands of his kin— That part had been vague; the impression of emotional and physical anguish, instead of the experience itself. It was too much, he wasn't prepared to think on it.

It was the pleasure, the adoration she had drowned herself in his abandonment. The Trevelyan woman, Ser Dilys, somehow bothered him less. Not because they were of the same sex, he was not ignorant. It was their relations. While brimming with affectionate ecstasy, their relationship was a companionable dalliance, without promises or attachment. _Abelas_  was the one that fanned the flames of ire burning in his stomach. Abelas was actually in love with  _his_ Vhenan. Facing her on the battlefield, it would Abelas fighting at her side. He would ease the wounds Solas left, healing slowly but with time, replacing him altogether.

He watched her hands as she sat across from him, methodically tearing a wilted lily pad into the tiniest of shreds. He had never seen her hands before the Anchor. They were strangely lovely, small and appearing almost delicate. But they had never been the hands of a "Lady", always covered in calluses, little bruises and cuts, dirt and blood beneath the nails. Now, her moonsilk skin was mismatched. The vicious scars marked her left hand and continued up the arm, which only remained due her baffling mastery of the Orb. His eyes traced the raised cicatrix as it whirled and wound its way across her fingers in patterns that mimicked the Orb, his gaze trailing it up to the elbow before it disappeared beneath the sleeve of her tunic.

 

“What,” Caught staring, he was met with a flat, vaguely distant expression _; had she been thinking about...him? Abelas?_

“Do you remember sitting at my desk, tearing at the corners of any paper within reach?” He smiled softly at the memory, “Missives, my notes, even a book or two, when I didn't notice in time. You often appeared to be struggling to puzzle something out, something you knew was right there yet failed to see.”

“Yeah,” Quickly discarding the leaf and stilling her hands, “What about it?”

“Nothing, I suppose. Just a memory,” Reacting tersely in response to her continued sour temper, “It is strange, now I think of it, to see you without your journal.”

“It's not like I had time to grab it or anything. I was hauled off in the middle of supper, remember?” Pouting slightly at her lap, “Didn't even get to dessert. It was blackberry cobbler.”

“It is certainly full by now,” Nibbling at the last of his midday snack, “All those sketches, scribblings on the Ancient Elvhen, all the notes from your mother and Laleal and Felassan. And Abelas now, too, no doubt.”

 

He didn't need to look up to know he had said the wrong thing, to feel the furious glare boring into him. When he did, there was not the flushed and twisted snarl he expected. She looked back at him with horrifying composure, face as hard and cold as stone. He hadn't merely spoken out of turn: he had crossed a deep line in the shifting sand between them.

“I'm going to let you in on a little secret, Solas. There is honor amongst thieves. Thieves, liars, spies, saboteurs, assassins,” Her tone was measured, calm, void of emotion, “We all share one rule. If your enemy is not an immediate threat, personal things are off-limits. There are some things you allow one to keep for themselves.”

“I could not be sure you were not an immediate threat—”

“We were _fucking_ , Solas! Fendehis, I had told you _I loved you!_ ’ She was standing now, fists clenched at her sides, “I know now that was _your_ modus operandi, but it's not mine.

“ _I_ didn't use _you_ ,” She was pacing now, increasingly frantic, “ _Banalhan_ , if I had simply followed my orders, killed you _like I was supposed to_ , I could have saved myself—shit, saved all of Thedas _—_ so much grief.”

“Da'len,” Reaching out, attempting to calm her, to apologize.

“And, _Abelas_? What does he have to do with any of…” She froze for a long moment before slowly turning to him, marred hand raised over parted lips, eyes finally brimming with fresh tears.

“You saw my dreams last night. You spied on me, at my most vulnerable,” Wide-eyed and breathless, grasping vainly for disbelief, “You offered me comfort after witnessing all of that, and now you throw it back in my face?"

Before he could reply, or move, or even think, a bolt of lightning jolted through him. He recovered only enough to see her Fade-Stepping away. Halesta had vanished from sight by the time he managed to fully regain his facilities.


	8. In Your Corner

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Feelings are felt, despite all the reasons they shouldn't be.  
> Solas and Halesta make their way out of the Marsh,  
> and Solas gets to witness one of Halesta's long-dreaded visions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title of this chapter is named after Ella Vos's song, "In your Corner".

They hadn't spoken in two days. Travelling in silence, neither sparing so much as a glance at the other...at least, that was the mutual act they were putting on. When Solas had finally caught up to her after her storm-off, she had slowed, allowing him to take the lead, but made a point not to look at him directly. He seemed as though he had already adopted her cold-shoulder method, whether as an apology or childishness, she wasn't sure. 

Regardless, Halesta was certain she was winning their cold war. From the corner of her eye, she caught the twitch of his ear at any little noise she made, and his glances back over his shoulder, checking she was still in tow when she had been too silent for too long. He had even been bold enough to stare at her from the gloom when they had made camp; a few times she thought he was going to say something, though the words never came. It was becoming frustrating, at this point. Her anger was half gone by the second morning, and only continued to subside throughout the day. It had become a battle of will, who would be first to break the silence? Not her, that was for damn sure. Bless Aura for having packed a small embroidery kit so she had been able to endure the previous night, something to focus on apart from avoiding Solas's heavy gaze.  
  


She  _ hated _ this damned swamp. The mosquitoes were relentless. They had already encountered two Gurguts, a Wyvern, and a nest of giant spiders. And then there was the disturbing precaution of making certain her feet were  _ entirely  _ dry once dug in for the night, lest any fungus or water rot set in. Admittedly, she did find herself enjoying the various serpents and frogs along their path; occasionally picking up a specimen and carrying it for a bit, taking in unique patterns or curious adaptations, before returning it to the isles of thick mud. 

Just as she was considering giving in and asking Solas how much longer he intended to torture her with this swamp, a small farmhouse rose up on stilts before them. They both slowed cautiously, falling naturally into a defensive formation. A short, round human strode through the marshy pens surrounding the house and nearby barn, pouring grains from a sack into troughs for squealing Tuskets. She could see Solas glance at her questioningly in her periphery as she plucked up, striding confidently past him. 

“Pardon, Messere?” Putting on her best South Orlesian accent, she called out, waving sheepishly.

  
“Oh, hello there! Well aren’t you two a pretty pair!” 

The man was only about Sera’s height, with a wide, merry face and a gnarled red nose. While the general area was not known for its high opinion of elves, this man had the air of a family friend: warm and welcoming, and probably always ready with a caramel candy. He leaned against the fence she approached. 

“What are two elves doing walking around in the Marshes? It’s mighty dangerous, don’t y'all know better?”

“We are on our way to Serault, Messere,” Solas spoke up, his voice close behind her, “Would you happen to know how far it is from here?”

“It’s two, three days a walk west, but ‘least you can take the highway from here, ‘nstead a wading through the marsh.” 

He pointed off toward his barn, and there behind it, Halie could see the crumbling pavestone path. It was little more than a relic of packed dirt, remnants of what once might have been a fine road: a supposition she'd be more inclined to believe, did it not head toward Serault. The sun was a blinding citrine, low in the sky, dark clouds billowing up over it ominously. A storm. Turning back, she saw Solas hunched over, scratching a Tusket’s chin affectionately.

 

“I’ve never heard of anyone keeping Tuskets,” Cocking her head curiously as she looked into the man’s grinning face.

“Y’all must be from a city, then,” He chuckled warmly, “Grounds too soft for Druffalo out here, so Tuskets easier keepin’. Leather s’not as thick, but we make do.”

“Thank you for your help, Messere,” Solas bowed, then placed a guiding hand on Halesta’s shoulder, “We should try to make some time before the sun sets.”

 

“Mister, you and your wife––”   
  
__ “I’m not his wife––” “We’re not married––”   
  


“Oh….” The man appraised them with pursed lips and a new skepticism; she could feel the situation beginning to turn from their favor.

“Well, I mean,” Now all demure and fluttering lashes, praying that Solas would keep up, “Not  **_yet_ ** , that is...”

She leaned conspiratorially towards the elderly man, whispering loudly enough for Solas to overhear: “You see...we’re eloping!”

The old man turned a bright shade of red, grinning wide at her with the handful of teeth left in his mouth, and clapped his hands together with a cheerful  _ whoop! _

  
“Good for y’all! Your families being stubborn?” Crossing his arms, leaning in indulgently.

“Mamae and Papae say I shouldn’t marry the competition,” Sighing dramatically, “Merchant families, you know how it is.”

“Oh, sure!” He clearly didn’t, but was enjoying the gossip, “But the two of you seem old enough to make decisions for yourselves.”

“That is what I told them,” Solas nodded solemnly, catching her eye with a slick wink, “They would not hear reason.”

“So we’re heading to see my cousin in Serault, she’s a Chantry sister at the Bans there,” Fawning shyly, laying it on thick.

 

“I love a good love story,” The old man placed a hand over his heart, “Y’all oughta stay in the barn tonight, get a fresh start in the morning.”

“Oh Messere, you are too kind,” Solas played his part better than Halie had expected, “We could not impose on you--”

“Nonsense! I insist! Missus Adelaide’ll have supper ready soon, she’ll bring it out,” Opening the gate to the barn and ushering them through, “Y’all make yourselves comfortable in the loft in the meantime.”

“Oh! Merci beaucoup, Messere,” Placing a swift kiss on the man’s ruddy cheek, “Merci!”

“My pleasure, little Miss,” He took her hands warmly in his and shook them, “I’m Bissett.”

“Camille,” Dipping into a small curtsy. 

“I am Kais,” Solas shook his hand.

“Well, Kais and Camille, we’ll see you through tonight safe and dry,” Briefly clapping a hand on Solas’s shoulder before heading back toward the pens, “I’d better finish tendin’ to the Tuskies.”   
  
  


“I suppose we should ‘make ourselves comfortable’, then,” Solas cocked a brow at her, a hint of a smile on his lips as he gestured for her to lead the way up the barn ladder. 

“....Fiance, hm?”

“Shut up,” She hid her smile as she climbed the rungs, “And you’re welcome.”

“For agreeing to marry me?” He teased below her.

“Worst mistake of Camille's life,” Muttering as she took the bag he passed up to her, struggling to reign in her amusement, “And no, for getting us a dry place to sleep through the storm.”

“Kais and I have made worse mistakes,” Softly behind her, following her into the dark warmth of the attic.

And just like that, nearly three days of bitter silence evaporated. It was a small victory, in its way, but Halesta still couldn't help feeling a little defeated. 

  
  


* * *

  
  


By the soft flicker of lamplight over her sleeping features, Solas watched her idly, musing back over their pleasant evening. Halesta had snuck out back and returned soaking wet, her dripping hair dark and deflated with water. She had laughed at his reaction when she reappeared trailing droplets: that beautiful, rolling laughter which never failed to make his heart rise in his chest.

"The humidity is driving me nuts, so I improvised a bath," She had said, smiling sheepishly, "Feeling my hair stuck to my face, like I've been entirely covered in syrup. I was desperate."

Madame Adelaide looked precisely how he imagined the wife of the enthusiastic Messere Bissett. She had been friendly and welcoming, her manners unimpeded by her inherently shy nature. She had brought them a hearty stew and coarse grain bread, and told them in a fragile little voice not to hesitate to ask should they need anything. The time had passed in a warm molasses haze, slow and easy and vaguely sweet, even as the sky rumbled and let fall its deluge. Now, finally, he nodded off to the rhythm of Halie's slow, shallow breathing. 

 

Passing into the Fade, he was surprised and a bit disappointed to find the wall still rising before him. They had such a pleasant evening...yet, he couldn't blame her for protecting herself from him, he'd hurt her too many times. And it  _ was  _ rather impressive, her ability to maintain such a solid, unwavering barrier in the Fade. Doubly so, when one considered that she was not a natural Dreamwalker, and most of her magical ability remained untapped. So, for the third night in a row, he stood at the foot of her rampart as history reenacted itself in the distance. 

It didn’t escape his attention that the same apparition that had appeared intermittently the past few nights was once again standing at the edge of his vision. It seemed only interested in observing, watching as he paced nervously, on both two feet and four. It was a curious thing, not immediately similar to any other spirit he knew, though not apparently a demon. In fact, it vaguely reminded him of the Seeker Cassandra: appearing to wear armor, sword planted in the ground between its feet and hands resting on the pommel. His curiosity finally piqued, he approached it. With an air of detached interest, it watched him with indeterminate eyes in a inconsistent face. 

“Greetings.”  

“Rebel Pride,” It nodded its head graciously, its voice resounding more in his mind than his ears. 

“Please, call me Solas,” It stood tall, nearly eye-level with himself, “What are you called?”

It seemed to smile wryly, “We are not called.”    


“Fair enough. What are you, then?”

  
“We are many things. Heartbreak, tearful struggle. We are unrequited. We are reluctant duty. We are forgiveness,” It tilted its head thoughtfully, very like Halesta, “Your tether says we are wistful, names us Suledin.”

“My tether…” It means Halesta, he assumes, “Do you know the meaning of the name she gave you?”

“We know the Elvhen, yes.”

He appraises the specter for a moment. Perhaps it is a mere spirit, but it carries a concerning amount of pain.

“And you feed from her?” In his mind, it seems to chuckle patronizingly; the sound of waves lapping gently against the shore.

“Only as much as she feeds from us. She and we are born of the same star. What is your word for it?  _ Friends. _ ”

It seems to look up, past him, “Oh, no.”

It disappeared as he turned to see, what looked to be a bolt of lightning, striking with a loud crash down behind the wall. White light, thick and rolling like fog over the wall, washed over him with piercing pain—   
  


Sitting up with a gasp in the dark of the loft, the pain continued to echo through his head. Panicked, he looked at Halesta. She was still asleep, though her knitted brows and white-knuckled grip on her blanket suggested she felt it as keenly as he had. For a moment, Solas floundered, clouded and confused as the headache slowly ebbed away. He'd never seen anything like that, a white lightning strike in the Fade….

“Hey,” A soft, strained whisper cleared his mind.

“Are you hurt?” Scooting over to place his fingers to her temples, “What happened?”

“You know about the visions,” He could hear her pursing her lips at him in the dark.

“Yes, but I have never witnessed you receive them,” Pressing magic through her skin, hoping to ease the migraine before it could intensify, “I don't understand why it is so painful.”

“Because they're not meant for me,” She turned her face toward him, her breath warm on his hands, “I'm not a Seer. They didn't hurt Mamae.”

“Then why do you recieve them?”

“I wish I knew. It never happened before she died.”

They sat silently for a moment. Her fingers gently curled around his wrist, her sigh of grateful relief against his skin. Clearing his throat, Solas hoped to distract from his speeding pulse. 

 

“So,” Voice a little deeper than intended, “Am I allowed to inquire as to what you saw?” 

“Oh, er. Yeah,” Slightly uncertain, “It was Falon’Din. There was someone else with him, but they weren't quite solid? I don't know.”

Solas swallowed hard, “What did they look like?” 

“I-I can't remember,” Pinching the bridge of her nose, straining, “My head—”

“Do not strain yourself, Da'len,” Refocusing on the spread of his magic, “Just relax.”

He rubbed little circles in the tender skin of her temples, rewarded with another sigh. He was grateful the lantern had burned out, the dark hiding the tenderness in his eyes as they skimmed her silhouette. No matter how he had hurt her, or how angry she might be, some part of her always remained trusting. He didn't deserve her. 

 

“I met a friend of yours,” Half expecting she had fallen back to sleep, “Suledin.”

“They 'were not called’,” Sheepish again, as though expecting to be scolded, “I thought it a suitable name.”

“I thought so, as well,” Chuckling quietly, “They called me 'Rebel Pride’. It was a first.”

“They understand Elvhen, but I don't think it's their, uh, mother tongue, you know?” She hummed to herself in amusement.

“What is funny?” Peering curiously over at her face.

 

“Nothing, really. I'm just thinking about my situation, stuck in a feud between ancient Elvhen gods with ominous, almost fanciful names, like ‘Fen'Harel’ and 'Falon'Din’. And here I am, just Halie.”

“There is nothing 'just’ about you, Halesta,” Half-hearted chastisement.

“Yeah, whatever. You know, I don't think Falon even knows your real name,” He saw a glint of light as she looked up at him, “He only ever referred to you as Fen'Harel. Is Falon'Din his real name?”

“I do not believe so. I would be surprised, anyway,” He paused a moment, “...You didn't tell him my name?”

 

“Of course not!” She sat up urgently, nearly nose-to-nose with him, “Do you think I would do that to you?”

“Not on purpose,” He placed a hand on her shoulder, trying to get her to lie back down again, “Never on purpose. Ir abelas, I meant no offense. Falon can be...very clever.”

She resisted, looking at him with desperate insistence, “I would never let him hurt you.”

 

“I wish I had been more careful, I never should have let him hurt you,” Cradling her cheek, heart aching, “I will never forgive myself.”

She started to respond, but flinched, clutching her head. He eased her back down, replacing her fingers against her temples. Still, she didn't take her eyes off his, searching his face painfully for something, he only wished he knew what. 


	9. Bury a Friend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Falon'Din muses on Halesta's role in all of this, and considers the further manipulation of his Twin.
> 
> Chapter named for Billie Eilish's song, 'Bury a Friend"

Dirthamen had a fragile, melancholy sort of beauty: the kind that brought to mind a stark winter landscape, like nature stripped to its bones. Despite his semi-translucent nature, Falon’Din could still make out the deep brown of his Brother’s skin, the sun-bleached wheat of his furrowed brow. The dark, skeptical grey-brown of his eyes. **  
**

With a sigh, Falon stretched his neck, rolling his head from side to side before straightening up. He briefly mused sitting so solidly on his makeshift throne before slouching languidly, a leg tossed imperiously over the stone armrest.

“News, Vallas?”

“Aside from the sighting in northwest Orlais,” The listless older elf offered without emotion, “None, Ma Nadas.”

“Mmn,” Dismissing the slave with a wave, he turned to the shade of his Brother.  
  


“What is it, then,” As usual, Dirthamen’s questions emerged as more statement than inquiry.

“If I had to guess, they’re headed to Andruil’s old mountain palace. It’s the only remotely significant location in the area,” Dirth listened with his signature morose detachment, “I wonder why….”

“I doubt anything of value would be there anymore,” His Brother somehow managed to make even a shrug impart dignity, “And it would make for a poor choice of hiding place.”

  
Falon frowned. He disliked frowning. He disliked struggling to anticipate the movements of his prey, and of his adversary. That they continued to work together confused him, and that only served to deepen his frustration. Perhaps he had been relying too much on the movements of the Wolf, and not paying enough attention to the mind of that clever little fox.

“Da'Hale continues to prove herself the answer,” Smiling to himself, a plan forming in his mind.

“You plan to continue torturing that poor child?” Dirthamen’s ghostly form rounded on him with arms crossed, the hint of disapproval in his voice.

“You think my initial methods were too cruel,” Rolling his eyes; Dirth had always been tender-hearted.

“Yes, I do. Further still, you forget,” Chastising only more effective in his eternally composed manner,

“She is mortal. A mere child, and exceptionally more fragile than we. It would take no effort for you to kill her by mistake. What is it about her that fascinates you so?”

It was a valid question. She puzzled him to no end: what was it that Fen’Harel found so…special? She was strangely powerful, though her clumsy and panicked attack implied she didn’t understand just how much, or how to use it. She was intelligent enough to refuse to return to Tarasyl'an Te'las, despite it predictably having been Fen’s intention. Dirthamen may be correct. He needed more face time with this Halesta, and it’d likely be easier if it were on more… amicable terms.

  
“You’re right, as usual,” Sighing, he let his head fall back, looking up at Dirth with the innocent sort of pleading he knew worked best.

“You want me to help you trap her again.” His Brother’s delicate pursed lips showed his feelings clearly regarding the girl.

“No, not trap. Just a chance to talk to her,” Sitting up, taking the thin impression of Dirth’s hand in his own, “Preferably in a situation that she might listen.”

Dirthamen sighed, his shade pulling away to pace away. He walked the entire length of the ancient Dwarven feast hall, clearly arguing with himself. Falon needed to look more contrite, more eager to be doing the right thing. It was clear that his centuries trapped in the Fade had only cooled any anger Dirth may have felt toward Fen’Harel; Falon needed to manipulate his closest of Kin to cooperate.

“My Brother,” Standing, he hung his head with shame, “I wish that it had been you that was freed first. Then this could all be done with the least possible regret.”

Dirthamen visibly flinched, turning to scrutinize his Brother for any signs of insincerity. Whether or not he found them remained to be seen; he sighed defeatedly before finally turning to face Falon.


	10. Tied to Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Having passed through Serault and into the dark Tirashan forests, Halesta falls back into old habits without reluctance, but Solas begins to finally face that he may have lost her for good.
> 
> This chapter is named for the song by William Fitzsimmons, "Tied to me".

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Applewoods are the forest at the edge of the Tirashan, and serve as the western border of the marquisate of Serault.
> 
> As defined in the text-based game, _[Dragon Age: The Last Court](https://dragonage.fandom.com/wiki/Dragon_Age:_The_Last_Court)_:  
> 
> 
>   * The Greenwood are the tamer area of The Applewoods that "teems with game"
>   * The Deepwoods are the depths of the Applewoods that "teem with things quite sinister"
> 

> 
>   
> 
> 
> * * *

 

As unsettling as the Applewoods were, Halesta found it a welcome relief from Serault and its altogether different sort of eerie. She chewed thoughtfully on the strip of willowbark she had been gnawing on since the tusket farm: the vision and subsequent headache still lingering at the fringes. The disturbing nature of the Applewoods was magical, which was somehow much less daunting than the air of thick tension and suspicion found in town. She had, of course, been grateful for the bath and night of sleep in a real bed that the inn had provided, but she was glad to have left. Everyone they passed had seemed on edge, glaring daggers at the strangers from outside. 

Standing at the border of the Deepwoods, Solas seemed to be considering which direction they should be heading. She thought she could make out the exact point where the sunlight dimmed, and the bark of the trees darkened. The way the Deepwoods met the Greenwoods reminded her of a river meeting the sea; the barest blending of freshwater with salt, but standing back, the clear line of distinction between them. In the distance, the shadows moved with strange perspicacity through the brush, and there was certainty in the knowledge that more than one set of eyes watched them.   
  


"So...?" She peered up at Solas, his eyes closed and brow furrowed.

"Patience, please," Lifting a long finger to quiet her, "I am trying to find my bearings."  


"What, do ancient elves have internal compasses like migratory birds? Or homing pigeons?"

He shot her a glare, but his picturing it mentally was enough for it to be delivered half-heartedly. Sighing and shaking his head, he ran a hand over his face.

"If general direction helps at all, we're west by north-west on our current heading," Almost offended when he looked at her with surprise.

"And how do you know that?" Now skeptical, as though she wasn't Dalish and trained as a hunter.

"Angle of the sun over the past hour or so, with the direction we've been moving since leaving town this morning." 

Reaching over, she plucked a metallic object from one of the outer pockets of his rucksack and tossed it to him. "Or you can try using this. One of Dagna's charmed compasses. She gave them to everyone for Wintersend. With all the rumor around the Applewoods, I dunno if it'll work here, but anyway."

"I do not recall your being so savvy as Inquisitor," Sidelong scrutinizing glance, he frowned...approvingly.

"I don't recall us being lost much when I was Inquisitor," She grinned, resettling the weight of her pack on her shoulders, "Plus, why do something when you've got twenty other people to do it for you?"   
  


Rolling his eyes, he started off into the gloom while she followed, snickering quietly. Almost instinctively they fell silent, stepping lightly. Perhaps it was just due to the dramatic cast of the canopy, but even the simple sounds of the forest took on a sinister tone: distant sounds of birds cackling forebodingly. There were innumerable microfissures in the Veil here, and she could feel the magic like static against her skin. Nothing so large and threatening as a Rift, of course. Merely glimmers and glints of bright green, twinkling like fireflies in the air. 

Halesta rather enjoyed the intensity of it all—at least, until evening set it. The shadows flitting at the edges of her vision slowly thickened, as though solidifying. Even with her hereditary heightened eyesight, it was becoming increasingly difficult to make anything out. They succumbed to tripping over vines and roots, entangled in thorny branches and hanging tendrils and a spiderweb or two. Every so often, a twig would snap nearby, or leaves would crunch on ground they'd already tread. The slow realization crept over her, escorted by a gentle panic: they couldn't stay here. They couldn't camp out here, in the open. This was the Tirashan.  


"Um, _Solas?_ " Without a thought, she slipped her hand into his, gripping tightly.

"I know, Da'len. It is just ahead," Instant comfort in his voice, like melting chocolate, "We are almost there."

She peered around him, eyes grasping for the last light, barely able to discern the familiar shape of a large reclining wolf beneath unrelenting thickets. Approaching its pedestal, she nearly shook him: there was no shelter here. Did he expect the crumpling, overgrown statue to serve as some form of mystical protection in a forest that knew no discipline? It was only when he slipped the dagger from her thigh, taking to the knotted weeds at their feet, that she could breathe again. Kneeling beside him, she could make out the large, rectangular, tomb-like stone he was working to free. Another knife in her helping hand finished the job quickly.    
  


She stood back and waited, admittedly surprised to see him slide the stone aside with such ease. Exhaled on hot breath from the gaping dark beneath, the scent of mildew and rotting leaves and deep soil. Solas pulled an orb of pale light from the air, illuminating the first steps of very,  _ very _ steep stairs before they they disappeared into the abyss. He gestured for her to go first, and her brows shot up. He  _ must _ be insane. But he widened his eyes, nodding meaningfully.  


Luckily (or unluckily) the stair was narrow, allowing her bare fingers to grasp vainly at the slick stone walls as she slowly made her way down. Managing to slip only once, she waited while Solas fumbled somewhere above her, sliding the secret door back into place and sealing them blindly into the dark. There was a brief flash of green as a barrier was cast over the stone, and then a flicker of blue as a ward rose into place over it. 

"What're you blocking out?" Her voice was sudden and loud.

"I am not sure, but it was following us rather closely."    
  


She could feel him as he stepped off the stairs, his magic finding them chest-to-chest in its faint glow. They both hesitated for a moment, looking at each other. While deciding if she should ask him to attempt  squeezing past her to take the lead, the unmistakable sound of skittering echoed from the void.

" _ Fuckin' _ spiders," Turning with a sigh, she took a dagger in each hand, "Great."

She felt the flutter of his hand near her ear, and Veilfire lit up torches lining the passage. 

"That should make it easier," Low, breathy chuckling behind her.

"Thanks," Dryly, she straightened up with determination, ready to squash some bugs.

 

* * *

 

"Well, those were the biggest damn spiders I've ever seen," Halesta shuddered, daintily wiping her blades on a patch of lichen before again more thorough on her tunic, "You made sure to burn all the egg sacs?"

" _ Yes _ , Da'len," Solas began clearing a place for their bedrolls and a fire, glancing at her with amusement.

She strode around, holding a torch close to the walls in attempt to glimpse the fading frescos beneath the tree roots and water stains. He rather wished she wouldn't, but any attempt to deter her would undoubtedly fail. He began preparing dinner while he waited for the questions to begin. When she finally came to sit quietly beside him, he looked at her.   
  


"What? Spider guts on my face?"

"No. I was merely anticipating a deluge of inquires," She cocked her head, confused, "About where we are, what this place is, and so on."

"Oh! No," She smiled apologetically, "No, Fel has told me all about these places. I've even been to a few, walked the paths, paid homage." 

"Ah," Grimacing slightly at the mention of his old friend, "That saves some breath, then. How is Felassan?"

"He's well. Very happy with Camber, I think," Smiling a little sadly, gaze on the fire, "He misses you. He's scared for you."

"That makes a pair," Placing the pot on the rack hook to boil, "I doubt he misses me. I do not believe he will ever forgive me."

"Don't sell him short. He's full of surprises."

He hummed in agreement, watching the cast iron slowly,  _ slowly _ begin to glow. She tucked her knees beneath her chin, hugging her legs; he hadn't even realized they were touching until she began rocking slightly.   
  


"I  _ do _ have  _ one _ question I've been meaning to ask since that first chase you led me on through the Crossroads...."

He looked down at her expectantly.

"Did  _ you _ paint all of those murals of yourself?" Grinning up at him wickedly, bumping his arm with her shoulder, "Freeing the elves, raising the Veil, 'Fen'Harel is the Best', and all that?"

"No," Laughing despite himself, "Most of them are not my work. I was not always the lone painter of Elvhen frescos, you know."

  
"What about all those paintings of muscular Elvhen butts?"

Nearly choking, a short coughing fit, "Pardon me?  _ No! _ "

"Mhm," Smiling to herself, patting him firmly on the back as he coughed.

"You  _ cannot  _ be serious, Halesta," Struggling to regain his composure, while she shrugged at him innocently.

"Oh, it was the first thing Dorian said when he saw one!" Abating the flames with a wave of her hand as the water began to boil over, giggling herself to tears.

He took the opportunity to look at her, as he hadn't had much of a chance all day. The fire and laughter had brought a flush to her face, and she had that glint in her eye that always followed a bit of knife work. The bruise by her eye was barely visible now, faded so that one had to know what to look for to find it. She finished the stew he had begun and they sat together, sharing it out of the pot.    
  


He was surprised when she pulled her bedroll so close to his, though he wasn't sure why precisely. They had slept side by side on the bed in the inn, chaste and without implication. She had even joined him in the Fade and, while she hadn't allowed him into her dreams, she had visited him in his own. When he woke, only her cheek rested against his arm, the rest of her body remaining self-contained. It had given him a foolish glimmer of hope, one he had been quick to shove down deep. But it was strange, her lying with him here, staring up at the distant ceiling while he lay on his side, staring at her.

Maybe this is how things were for them now. Maybe this is what was left, after all they had been through, burning through a lifetime of passion and fighting in only a few years. Mortal enemies and lovers, the contradiction only fueling their collapse like a dying star. Perhaps this was how they would end: too tired to fight each other, too comfortable in their mutual heartbreak and bitterness, too proud to concede to the other. More akin to a pair of war veterans than what they once were. His heart sank at the thought. It was torture, loving her in silence, when simply being with her came so easily. But it was too late, wasn't it?

Halie let him stare for a long time before rolling to face him. Her nose grazed the tip of his, no questions in her eyes. His gaze fell to her lips as she wet them, tracing the center crease of the lower. He must have leaned in, as his mouth was just a whisper from hers.

 

" _ Solas... _ " 

  
She breathed his name, as if in warning or reprimand, but didn't pull away, eyelids already closed. He kissed her softly, restraining himself to the barest of pressure, lingering greedily though barely touching. Retreating slowly, he searched her face for some sliver of reaction. When her lashes fluttered open, something flitted behind her eyes  _ (Panic? Fear?) _ before becoming unreadable.  

"Will tomorrow be a long day?" Voice breaking even as a whisper.

"The next few days," He nodded almost without moving.

"We should get some sleep?" Turning up at the end, as if unsure.

"Yes," Sand and gravel in his throat.  


  
He eased back to give her space, and she rolled over, turning her face from him. For a moment, Solas felt glass shattering in his chest—but then she shifted her body back against him. It wasn't an answer, but then again, he wasn't sure what he had asked.

 


	11. Sink In

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Halesta struggles with the "question" posed to her, Solas nervously anticipates her reaction, and they set off along the peaks of the Hunterhorn Mountains.
> 
> This chapter is named for Amy Shark's song, "Sink In".

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **I am so so sorry for the brevity of this chapter, and the brevity of the next--  
> **  
>  I promise, Chapter 13 is going to be a long one, and hopefully makes up for this one.
> 
>  
> 
> My eternal and all-encompassing gratitude for those of you reading along, and extra love to those of you leaving me such supportive comments!! ilyall  
> 
> 
> * * *
> 
> **Refresher Translations, via dragonagewiki**  
>  Suledin - "The concept of finding strength in enduring loss or pain; endure"  
> Vallaslin - "Blood writing; The art of tattooing adopted by some elves to more prominently display their worship of the traditional elven pantheon"  
> Mir Da'len - "My Little One"  
> Hahren - "Elder; used as a term of respect"  
> Eluvian - "Mirror; literally 'seeing glass'"  
>   
> 
> 
> * * *
> 
>   
> 

Slipping into the Fade, she was admittedly relieved to see that Solas had not waited for her. She could feel his impression on the dreamscape like a marble rolling over a bedsheet; he had headed off into his own dreams. There was no need to raise the wall. Instead, she turned to one of her favorite childhood escapes, easily finding the clearing once thinking of it. The spirit, Suledin, was already waiting for her beside her favorite tree, the one with the wide, flat rock propped against it. 

"You are distressed," Their layered voices speaking as one.

"More confused, I think," Sighing, she stretched herself lazily across the stone, I don't understand what he wants from me."

"The Rebel Wolf."

"The way he kissed me, the look in his eyes? It was almost desperate...." She lolled her head over to look at the Spirit, "He was asking me for something, but I don't know what it was."  
  
"You did not ask?" Relaxing their posture to lean against the hilt of their sword.   


"No, I panicked." 

  
Halesta let her gaze wander, landing on a chubby garden snake curled around a nearby branch, basking in the sunlight of her imagination. She didn't give the creature much thought, distracted by her spinning mind and continued reaffirming that Solas hadn't come any closer. Suledin watched her with the patience and fondness of an old friend.

"He still loves you. He never stopped," Their softly spoken words drawing her attention.

"He told you this?" They smirked at her wryly.

"He is too proud to  _ tell _ us such things," The Spirit nodded its head meaningfully, "Still, we can see."

"Well, it hasn't stopped him from keeping his distance before," She rolled onto her stomach, sulking, "I just wish I knew what he wants. Maybe it's just the physical release he needs? Could I handle that?"

Suledin didn't respond, merely hummed a little tune she didn't know. Running a hand over her face, she could still feel the barest hint of her long absent Vallaslin. She could still remember the night he took it, the memory crystal clear, as though it had just occurred. Another wave of ache and confusion washed over her. The mental battle between logic and emotion muddled her thoughts. And then, for the first time since in years, a little voice in her head spoke up—her mother.

> _ "Mir da'len, what did I always tell you? Have a plan, but never ignore your intuition. Be present in the moment: do what feels right, when it feels right, and there will be nothing to regret.” _

Once again, she was facing certain death trying to protect the world from ruin. How much longer would her luck hold out? Why was she so worried about protecting her heart, when she likely wouldn't live long enough to experience the consequences? She languished in the warmth of the conjured sun until she grew restless, bidding Suledin farewell.  
  
  


She woke first, to no surprise. It was impossible to guess at the time in this underground temple, but she felt rested enough to rise. Without haste, she rekindled the fire and retrieved the mortar, pestle, and coffee beans. While the coffee brewed, she wiped the mortar clean and began preparing the grits. It seemed like an adequate source of energy if the day was to be as long as Solas had said. She had just added the nug bacon when he stirred, rubbing his eyes in a way that made her chest feel tight.

"Good morning," Low and husky from sleep, tone unexpected and pleasant.

"Good morning, Hahren," She looked over her shoulder to watch him amble over, "I made you coffee. Don't worry, it's mostly sugar and powdered milk."

He sniffed at it with begrudging gratitude, glancing at her curiously.

"You said it'd be a long day," Half-shrugging, she passed him a bowl, "Eat."

"It smells delicious. Meat porridge?"

"Nuhuh. Well, kinda, I guess? They're grits," Tucking into her own bowl, "Ground grain, boiled with salted butter and a little dried milk, and a little bacon in for flavor. Dalish breakfast staple."

"Sensible and delicious," Nodding approvingly; the way he was looking at her made her pulse stutter and she could feel the heat rising in her cheeks.

They finished their breakfast, Halesta had a second cup of coffee, and began packing up. She began pulling out clothes, digging through her rucksack, figuring she'd be wearing whatever she settled on for at least the next couple days.

 

"Be sure to dress warmly," Offhand comment came from somewhere beside her.

"How warm?" 

"Well, we will be on the highest mountain in Thedas," A teasing note creeping in, "So certainly something that covers more skin than your wardrobe of late..."

"Excuse me for enjoying my retirement from the public eye," Cheeks flushed and burning, "It's been nice dressing like my old self again." 

"It was not a complaint. On the contrary, the occasional glimpse of bare thigh has been quite enjoyable," He was smiling down at his hands, gathering his own clothes, "I am merely saying, it would be a shame to see them frostbitten."

"Who says you'll see them again at all," Kittenish by reflex, coy smirk a knee-jerk reaction, "Frostbitten or otherwise?"

When he looked up at her through his lashes, a shiver ran down her spine. There was a rapacity in his eyes, a wolfishness to his subdued smile that she hadn't seen in a long time.

"I am confident in my odds."

In an instant, she was crimson to the very tips of her ears. He was openly and unapologetically flirting, and why it was affecting her like this, she didn't understand. She didn't know what she was doing, only that she couldn't seem to fight the impulse to play along. What had changed for him? Why now? It didn't seem to track, unless she was right about it just being a need for release. As tempting as it was, the idea of giving in.... 

Maybe Mamae was right. Maybe she should allow herself a little selfishness, take what little moments of happiness she had left.   
_Feel first,_ she decided, _reason second_.

  
Two pairs of legwraps, a layer of thermal underwear, a pair of pants, and two shirts later, she was ready to go. Solas appeared not to have bundled up half so much, yet he was still pushing a gorgeous new coat at her (another gift from Aura, she presumed.)

All packed and bags settled on their backs, she allowed Solas to lead her down a series of dark, twisting tunnels off the main chamber. Veilfire torch in hand, he moved confidently, obviously knowing where they were going. It all seemed the same to her, dim and damp, trailing in his wake. When he stopped short, she stumbled, nearly running smack into him as she squinted around for sign of their destination.  
  


Gently, he reached back and placed a hand on her shoulder. The tunnel had opened up before them into a hall of yawning darkness— but slowly, her eyes caught the pale, flickering, aquamarine reflection of the torch along either side of the hall. Eluvians, at least twelve and currently dormant, lined the walls. Taking his cue, she followed slowly as he raised the phantom flame to read the plaques above each one. She let her eyes flicker up to the first one, the Voices of the Well stirring to whisper the meaning of the ancient characters, but quickly looked away. She didn't want to know.

"Watch your step," Not looking down, still scanning the markers overhead.

There was broken glass scattered across the floor. She scanned the Eluvians again. Yes, there were twelve, but it had been their frames reflecting the Veilfire. At least four of them had been shattered, hence the glass. She tiptoed around the shards. Studying the surfaces as she passed them, some remained as normal mirrors; her reflection gliding briefly across the smooth surface like a ghost before disappearing behind another frame. 

The air abruptly grew cold, and as she stared into the next mirror she was met with...nothing. Like a thin sheet of ice atop fathomless depths of the blackest lake, the surface seemed to absorb, rather than reflect. Only the warmth of her breath briefly appeared before it, too, was sucked away into the void. She was able to feel the chill radiating from the surface like a winter breeze. 

"Take care not to touch, da'len," Called over his shoulder, his voice snapped her from the trace.

Unthinking, she had raised her hand slowly, reaching out towards the blackness. Now, she snatched it back. Holding the hand tightly against her body, she hurried to catch up. Solas had come to a stop at the end of the row, examining one of the endmost Eluvians scrupulously. As she came to his side, she glanced at its opposite, quickly looking again with shock.

It appeared much as the others, except for the veins of telltale red branching up and outward. Dread began to pool in her gut. Familiar crystalline structures had formed on the frame's reflection, glowing faintly and appearing almost to pulsate, along with the vein, in time with her increasing heartbeat. Panicked, she reached back for Solas, grasping without taking her eyes off of the Eluvian.  
  


"Solas!"

She saw his reflection turn, his eyes following her own gaze before locking with hers in a similar expression of unease.

"Well, shit."

Any other time, the callback—coming from  _ Solas, _ of all people—would have had her laughing herself hoarse. In this case, however, nothing less would have been appropriate.  


"Red Lyrium. Fan- fuckin' -tastic," She looked up at him nervously, his eyes having returned to the tainted mirror, "What do we do?"

"What do you mean? We are taking this one, here," He gestured behind him, still staring at the veins of pulsing red.

"Yeah, but it feels wrong just... leaving it accessible like this?"

"It is not the only way through," He looked down at her, adorably baffled, "It is merely the one from  _ here _ ."

" _ Yeahyeahyeah _ , I know," Waving at hand dismissively, "But still. Can't we just, I don't know, break it? Just in case?"

"I am not certain that is wise," Glancing again warily at his reflection, "We cannot determine whether or not it will spread through to this side."

"Yeah, cause this place is obviously a high-traffic area," Tossing him a malapert look, "Don't worry, I understand. It could easily take root and spread through the Tirashan and Serault. I get it."  
  


Sneering at her rose-tinted reflection before pinching the bridge of her nose, she let out a long sigh before turning to Solas and the Eluvian. A quick apologetic shrug, he faced the mirror, tracing a rune onto the dull glass. She committed the motion to memory as the surface illuminated, shifting into a swirling, scintillating liquid.  Solas stepped into the Eluvian— And immediately backed out. 

"Well, _this_ will be interesting."

 

* * *

 

Breakfast and mutual banter had been a pleasant surprise. He had been nervous, even in sleep, that her eventual disposition in the morning would be cold or detached or uncomfortable. Instead, Solas had been greeted by a cheerier-than-normal Halie. Well, cheerier and...ruffled? The words "girlishly flustered" came to mind, but to describe Halesta Eliana Lavellan as such— Even in his thoughts, he skirted such a precarious depiction of her. Thankfully, she had returned to her usual self by the time they discovered the tainted Eluvian. 

By the time he had hoisted her up, rucksack and all, to the top of the snow pile,  he could hardly pass her his own bag for laughing. Stepping back out of the Eluvian had confused Halesta; she hadn't imagined they would emerge into a wall of ice. To be fair, it hadn't occurred to him either, though it made sense. It had been centuries since anyone had cleared the path. Her desperate scramble to crawl from his shoulders onto the ledge above had been near unbearable. He couldn't help it. Despite his laughter, his heart beat for her.

Now that it was his turn to climb up, he realized that the joke was to be on him. The ledge was too high to hoist himself up by his fingertips, and the wall of jagged ice made for a very delicate situation. After some difficulty, he had managed to ascend a few feet, though one of his footholds began to break up quickly under his weight. Halesta reached down towards him, offering her hand. When he hesitated to take it, she huffed and jutted her arm out more insistently as she rolled her eyes.  
  
Wrapping his fingers tightly around her forearm, he could feel the sure strength of the muscle underneath. It was easy to forget her small size hid considerable strength. She helped pull him higher, and he was able to quickly find another foothold....only as the ice beneath his other foot gave way, crumbling down through the surface of the activated Eluvian.

There was a loud crack above him. Raising his gaze to meet Halie's, he was less than a meter from the top, but she had a quick plan forming behind her eyes. The ledge was about to collapse under their shared weight, the sound was a large piece of ice breaking. The large piece of ice they were currently on. 

"Okay, on the count of three, you're going to jump for the top. As soon as you land, we're going to roll away from the edge, okay?"

"I place myself in your capable hand," His voice was a tad less confident than intended.

"One. Two..." She nodded, eyes wide, " _Three!_ "

With her sharp pull, he managed to land with his head in her lap. He dragged his legs over the edge and rolled, while Halesta tumbled the opposite direction. Another sharp crack resounded as the ledge started to break away.

 

_ "Whoop—!"  _

Sticking her leg through one of the arm loops, she managed to catch the bag that had been left too close to the edge, as the ground beneath it fell in a miniature avalanche through the Eluvian. Just as the ice had passed through, the mirror's surface stilled and grew dim. Halesta was still gripping at the uneven snow as her lower half dangled precariously over the freshly gaping crevasse they had just created. He quickly pulled her back until both she and the rucksack were on stable ground, before falling in exhaustion with her head against his chest. After a few gasping breaths, she began laughing. Soon, he was chuckling along with her, unable to resist.

"Well, that was ridiculous," She rose to her feet, brushing her hands off on her trousers before offering him a hand, "And it's not even time for lunch yet."

He groaned at the realization, allowing her to help him to stand. They gathered their bags and prepared to set off into the ceaseless snow. He caught her smiling at him as she pulled up her fur-trimmed hood.  
  


"Ready?"

He smiled, his energy suddenly returning.

"Ready."


	12. What Kind of Man

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Falon'Din considers the issue of Dirthamen's reluctance, and receives welcome information from his spy.  
> Once again, I apologize for the brevity of this chapter: it will be made up for in the next!  
> This chapter is named after the song "What Kind of Man" by Florence and the Machine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Translations of Mangled Garbage:**   
>  Vallas - Set, as in the setting of the sun; used here as a name   
>  Ma Nadas - "My Inevitably", referring to the inevitably of death  
>  Lethanavir - Friend of the Dead, another name for Falon'Din  
>  Uthenera - The name of the ancient practice of immortal elves who would "sleep" once they tired of life; immortal; waking sleep; literally "eternal waking dream".  
>  Lathem - Beloved   
>  da'Hale - Little Fox  
>  Ar lasa mala revas - "You are free" or, more literally, "I give you your freedom"  
>  Ma Nadas - "My Inevitably", referring to the inevitably of death  
> 
> 
>   
> 
> 
> * * *

  
Falon'Din stood with his arms outstretched as Vallas dressed him in fresh robes, his mind on the problem that seemed to be developing with his closest of Kin. Dirthamen seems to have been slowly becoming more solid with each passing day. Were these still the days of their youth, this would be a cause for celebration, not concern. Unfortunately, it seemed that his centuries in isolation had turned Dirth's interests away from his Brother's natural leadership.

Overly sentimental, a bleeding heart so reluctant to assist in Falon's acquisition of strength and prey. The Veil that kept Dirth from his wholeness was continuing to slip away, and his secrets were waiting for him. His secrets and all their power—and there is  _ great _ power in his secrets. All of Falon'Din's secrets belong to him, as well.    
  


"Vallas," Regarding the servant with gentle fondness, "You've noticed my Brother's increasing strength, no?"

"Yes, Ma Nadas," The listless man pulled a draping sleeve over his master's arm.

"And I'm sure you've noticed his...reluctance, of late."

"I have, Ma Nadas," Vallas ducked his head, but Falon lifted his chin so he was forced to look into his master's eyes.

  
Lethanavir's eyes traced the cicatrix of his ownership; carved with a heavy hand so spiteful of the man's old age, the Vallaslin creased even the deepest of the skin's wrinkles. Upon first escaping the Fade, Falon'Din had immediately gone to one of his old temples to seek out those sworn to him. Only Vallas, already aged and shrivelled, survived. He had snatched the slave from Uthenera rather unceremoniously, but the old man had recovered with a modicum of grace. So devoted, so obedient.

"I fear my Brother, should he slip the Veil too early, will seek to circumvent our endeavors," He caressed the man's withered cheek affectionately, "I require you to find a way to, ah,  _ delay _ his freedom. But I must have your absolute secrecy in this, Lathem."

"I am bound to you, Lethanavir," The first hint of emotion, genuine and thick in Vallas's voice as he bowed.

Falon stroked his slave's long, steely hair, "Good."   


  
  


The fat, plain snake lay coiled in front of the dining hall fire, not even stirring until Falon'Din strode past it to where Dirthamen stood at the head of the table. He slid into the seat and crossed his arms, watching as the snake unfurled itself. It slithered toward him, slowly lifting its head as it began to change shape and color, glittering from dull green to brilliant violet.

"Embrace."

"Our Master Lethanavir," The desire demon took its more natural form, mocking curtsey before splaying itself most obscenely across the table, "A pleasure, as always."

"How goes your investigation into my da'Hale?" Falon played bored, as was always best with these creatures.

"She's awfully boring, I must say. The Dread Wolf kissed her, and she spent her dreams debating whether or not she enjoyed it," Exasperated, feigning a yawn, Embrace let their eyes roam his form hungrily. 

 

"That's all very well and good, but nothing we didn't already know," Glancing up at Dirthamen, who stood with solemn indifference at his side, "Or expect. We need  _ more _ . Her fears, her memories, traumas from her past...."

"Well, there was one thing," Embrace propped themselves up on an elbow, "It was only there for an instant: the taste of anguish, dread, fearful certainty of abandonment and betrayal."

"Spit it out. You're wasting my time."

"It was just the flash of a memory, when he took her slave markings," The creature had lost some of its smug confidence, "I only caught the words:  _ Ar lasa mala revas. _ I didn't see what followed that caused her such devastation, she didn't dwell on it long enough."   
  
  


There was a long silence, and Embrace looked anxiously from Falon'Din to Dirthamen, and back. The smile that curled his lips was creeping, so sinister that the desire demon felt a chill at the sight. Falon let out a low chuckle of delight. 

" _ This _ memory is the key," Tenting his fingers beneath his chin, "Draw it out of her, Embrace. I want to know its every detail."

"Yes, Master," The demon nodded, confidence returning twofold.   
  


"Where are they now?" Dirthamen's soft, smooth voice came low, directed at the slave that stood motionless in the shadows at the end of the table.

"They are atop the mountains," Vallas, in his monotonous drawl, "Nearing Andruil's palace, Ma Nadas."

"Very good," Falon grinned up at his Brother, "We'd best be on our way, then. I don't want to be late for my date with the little fox."


	13. Backbeat (or: The Memorillum)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Solas and Halesta almost close the gap between them, until a misunderstanding leaves Halesta second-guessing herself. She then stumbles onto the palace they'd been searching for, only to fall into a seemingly friendly trap.  
>    
> [Link to some of my concept drawings for this chapter](https://ladylike-foxes.tumblr.com/post/184122974523/some-character-concept-work-and-different-styles)  
> This chapter is named for the song 'Backbeat' by Dagny.  
> The Memorillum is clarified in the end notes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The only real word that should require any translation/definition in this chapter is fully explained in the end notes. Thank you so so much for reading, and I'm sorry in advance for this trainwreck!  
> 
> 
> * * *

 

“Why are we here, again?”

          Halesta was shivering against the painful shards of minute ice blowing forcefully over the rocks. There was a cave just below them, but it was a precarious climb down the steep sandstone cliff face, and he wasn’t sure if she should risk the descent with the cold stiffening her fingers. Unfortunately, the approaching snowstorm was making forward progress difficult. Solas didn’t recall Mt. Ambrosia as so inhospitable before the Veil.   
  
“For the map,” Shouting over the violent wind, he beckoned her over, “Come here, da’len.”   
  
          Squinting against the flurry, she moved close to him. Even through the scent of dust and black sage, the fragrance of her skin overwhelmed his senses: salty-sweet sweat, blood orchids, a lonely violin, lilac and rosewater, and laughter in the sunlight. He took her hands, easing her aching joints and spreading some much needed warmth into her fingers.   


They had been creeping along the peaks for a week now, and the cold had only seemed to soften her to him. She had, on more than one occasion when their path permitted, and for seemingly no other reason than to do so, held his hand. He never objected or inquired, unwilling to risk her letting go. At night, they entwined their shivering limbs; she would tuck her head beneath his chin, and her nest of curls would trap his hot breath. Presumably this was all done under the pretense of keeping warm, though neither bothered to voice it, careful not to break the spell.

“There is a cavern a few metres below the precipice. I will go first,” Holding her gaze sternly, “You will very carefully follow, only after I am inside.”

“You’re the boss,” She half smirked and he pulled away; he couldn’t clear his mind for the climb while touching her.

          It was a delicate task, but it took mere minutes before his feet found level ground. Signaling for her, he peered up as she found the hand- and footholds he had used. It was almost too late when he realized there was a slight problem: she was far shorter than he, and her reach was insufficient….She slipped––

           Solas caught her hand, barely preventing her long fall to a certain death. She weighed little, and had the wherewithal to help him pull her into the safety of the cave. Immediately, his hands were on her, gently tilting back her head to inspect her scraped chin. The sudden scare delayed his realization that she was laughing.

“What exactly is so amusing?” Wanting to shake her from fear and confusion,” You very nearly  _ died _ , Halesta.”

“Aw, you  _ like _ me,” Giggling almost hysterically, he wondered if she were in shock, “You caught me! You could’ve let me fall, and you’d finally be rid of me, but you  _ caught _ me.”

  
Yes. Definitely in shock. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, he had to calm himself. It was so difficult not to pick her up, cling to her so tightly as to force the air from her lungs. He had nearly lost her. Sighing, he removed his rucksack and withdrew a handful of caramels, pushing them at her insistently. Halie had stopped laughing and was watching his face curiously; taking the candies without question, she popped one in her mouth as she studied him. Neither spoke for a moment, merely sitting in silence as she ate two more. Gingerly, he prodded at the fading bruise encircling her eye, testing for any wincing sign of tenderness. His fingertips pressed at the ridge of her cheekbone, and the briefest of flinches broke her stare from his face. 

“Why will you not just allow me heal it?” Murmuring softly, so close he could feel his own breath against her skin.  
  


          She grabbed his hand, holding it against her face. Slowly, confounding, she broke into the most brilliant smile; the warmth that spread through his body at the very sight was enough to nullify the bitter cold of the Hunterhorns. Bringing his fingers to her lips, she brushed a light kiss like an iron brand across the skin.  


“You’re immortal; you wouldn’t understand.”

"I am not technically immortal—"

"Semantics—" Waving her hand with a dismissive smile.

"But I would appreciate your trying to explain what you mean," He sat, neither closing nor expanding the scant distance between them.

"I've learned to be a little proud of the struggles and horrors I've been through, and whatever marks or scars or bruises they leave. They mean I've survived, and that makes me feel stronger and more capable," Ducking her head shyly, before glancing up with a grin, "Or maybe that's just poetic rationalization for my masochism." 

"Masochism?" 

Stifling the smile tugging at his lips, instead he pressed them gently to the faint bruise. She surprised him by turning her head to place a kiss to the corner of his mouth. Hard and insistent, but quickly softening as she hesitated. Before she could withdraw entirely, he cradled her face in his hands, intending the same tender inquiry he had made in the Petitioner's hall. In an instant, she was half in his lap, fingers curling against the nape of his neck. He nearly lost himself.    


He realized how inaccurately he remembered her taste, the slant of his mouth over hers, the scars of her neck beneath his fingers, the heat of her mouth pressed against his— But he knew them all in an instant, like they had been engraved on his soul. It was not the way he wanted to kiss her, to hold her tight and devour her, but the abruptness had knocked the breath from his lungs. He came up for air too quickly, too vigorously: she retreated in a scramble, backing herself against the opposite wall. Panting and flushed, she began her nervous giggling, tugging on a lock of hair. He had scared her away, understanding settled like a crushing weight on his chest.  
  


"I'm  _ so _ sorry—" 

"No! No,  _ I _ am sorry! I...." He fumbled for words, coming up short.

"Near-death experiences," Halesta hid behind a few ringlets of hair, still giggling, "Really knock the sense right of ya, don't they?"  


_ Oh _ . It had been an  _ I-almost-died _ kiss. Of course.  
  


He ran his hands over his face, feeling a fool. If only the Void would open up and swallow him. She quickly set about preparing dinner, asking him to start a fire for them, her voice an octave or two too high. She kept tugging at that same lock of hair, but the thick air of embarrassment slowly ebbed. By the time it had grown dark outside their little cavern and Halie began yawning, they had returned to what had become their usual sleep routine. She draped herself over him, while he curled his body around hers. How was this so effortless? It was as though she fell into him without thought or reservation. Yet....  


"I'm sorry," Her voice gently slicing through the silence, "For kissing you like that. Without any warning or invitation or anything."

He was almost confused. But, if an uncomfortable moment was to be addressed, leave it to Halesta to be the one to bring it up. 

"I believe  _ I _ kissed  _ you _ ," Breathing evenly as best as he could, "Unsolicited. For the second time in a week."

"What? No," A tinge of uncertainty in her tone, "I thought it was me?"

"You missed," He thought he could feel her temperature rising, "Thus, I kissed you."

"Oh." She stiffened for a second, and anxiety curled in his stomach; nearly starting at the sudden nuzzle of her cheek against his clavicle, "Well, then...thank you."

"For?" 

Her only response was to relax against him, though he could swear he felt the faintest whisper of her lips against his throat. His body mimicked hers, any remaining tension easing from his muscles. They grew still, and he counted her heartbeats until he fell asleep.

 

* * *

 

She didn't quite understand it, but the compulsory sensation was keeping her from sleep. It tugged at her, urging her to venture deeper into the darkness of the cave, away from the safety of Solas's sleeping form. It wasn't like the sinking feeling she had felt in the Deep Roads: no apprehension about going forth alone, or primal fear at what she might find, or be found by. After several hours attempting to ignore it, and one more of internal debate, she carefully untangled herself from his limbs; deciding to leave Solas a note and head into the tunnel.

It was strange, the way it never grew too dark for her to see a few steps ahead. The lure only became more intense with her progress. It couldn't have been half an hour before she found the wooden door set into the stone. With a few hard shoves, the door swung open into a small bunk room; clearly long abandoned, judging from the layer of dust coating every bedcover. The opposite passage had no door, but led to a palatial gallery. A small shiver ran up her spine.

  
The Voices of the Well stirred in her mind, whispers indistinct but insistent. She walked down the immense hall, with its ornate pillars and sourceless ambient light, in tomb-like silence. The crystalline arches, laced with stone, echoed with age and were unmistakably Elvhen in origin. Passageways branched out on either side, and she allowed the Whispers to lead her down one. She felt the whole palace had a oddly organic, meandering quality to it.  The Voices became louder, more urgent as she came to face two large, embellished doors. There was an engraving, and she paused, waiting for the Whispers to impress the meaning.

> **_A gift from Beloving Sylaise to Brave Sister Andruil, a Memorillum in congratulations of a mighty and successful hunt._ **

It rang familiar, and curiously, Halesta pushed through the heavy doors. Unsure whether to believe her eyes, she stood stunned by the sight before her. An immeasurable sphere hovered in the air, a hair's width above the ground. Inside were people, dancing and twirling and bathed in warm light: their images were slightly warped, as though seen through water or the bottom of a glass. Entranced and unthinking, she raised her hand to the sphere's surface—   
  


There was the sensation of falling, and suddenly she was  _ there _ . A grand hall of finery, the people in the center moving in perfectly coordinated steps, a dance similar to those she had practiced at Halamshiral. Gaze moving to the front of the room, she swallowed her gasp. Seated at a long table on a dais were six people that, while never seen before, Halesta immediately recognized. She didn't need the Voices of the Well to tell her it was Sylaise who stood, instantly silencing the room as everyone turned to look. Her bright red hair and gentle face sent a shock of cold fear down Halie's spine. Beside her sat June, looking dull but pleased with Elgar'nan on his other side. Sylaise raised a chalice, mirrored by everyone in the room.

"Tonight, we toast the Huntress Andruil on the success of her most daring hunt yet!"

Andruil smiled smugly, reclined in her chair at Sylaise's elbow. Her dark fingers were entwined with Ghilan'nain's, sitting meekly on her other side. The room applauded and cheered, though a few faces showing a hint of concern. Mythal, with lovely dark brown skin and dragon headdress, sat beside an empty chair at the far end, looking openly displeased. Pale Elgar'nan touched her shoulder, but she shook her head, leaving the room as the music returned to playing. Something occurred to Halesta, as she counted the empty chairs....   
  


"Elvhen dress suits you, Little fox." 

The voice at her ear made her stomach sink, magic pricking at her fingertips. She turned slowly, ready to fight this time, but Falon'Din stood politely with his hands raised in innocence.

" _ Easy _ , Love. If you act too out of place, you'll break the memory. That would release a  _ lethal _ explosion of raw Fade magic."

She glanced around the room, heart pounding, breath fast and heavy as fear and fury fought in her mind. He held his pose while she panicked, watching her with a smile that turned her stomach.

"I understand your concern, but I assure you, I came only to talk to you," Lowering one hand as he offered her the other, "I apologize for my abhorrent behavior before, I realized too late that you're no enemy of mine. Please, permit me a dance."

She hesitated, glaring at him defiantly, but they had begun to attract curious glances. Carefully, she placed her hand in his, and he swept her off across the floor.

  
" _ You _ trapped me here," She found the steps easily, leaving her free to look up from her feet.

"Well, not quite. I assumed your curiosity would lead you here, and I took the opportunity," He was deceptively charming, feigning sheepishness, "I needed to apologize to you, and there are things you need to know."

"What makes you think I'm  _ not _ your enemy?" She looked around, realizing how markedly short she was in this sea of Elvhen.

"What's the saying these days?" He spun her around, catching her easily, " _ 'The enemy of my enemy is my friend' _ ?"

"Fen'Harel is not my enemy."

"Yet, you've established a force expressly to work against him," Arching a brow, seemingly good-humored.

"It's complicated," She glared, he lifted briefly her by the waist in a spin before returning her to her feet.

"I can empathize," Smirking as she rolled her eyes, "What? You don't have a monopoly on being complicated."  
  


When she didn't respond and returned to observing the room, he lowered his voice to a purr. 

“Your Wolf had slaves too, you know,” His gaze heavy, meaningfully intent, “He was Mythal’s pet, certainly, but he had pets of his own...and he made use of them.”

Halesta's disgust showed before she could regain her composure. Falon frowned sympathetically. 

“He fell madly in love with one of mine once,” Carefully, considering her for a moment, “You look nothing at all like her, but there’s something about you that's reminiscent of her.”

“He was narcissistic and lascivious, a hedonist of the highest order; playing his little tricks, revelling in any orders to shed blood. Every time one turned around, he was fucking some pretty new thing– Roll your eyes all you want, darling, but I’m not exaggerating."

  
  
"And then  _ she _ came along. Suddenly he’d eyes only for her," He was watching her carefully, still twirling them across the floor, "Which rankled Mythal to no end, let me tell you. Next thing we know, he’s ruining every dinner or counsel with arguments for freeing our slaves, renouncing our deification." 

"Oh, that must have been  _ so _ inconvenient for you," Halesta sneered in mocking pity.

"He was only worsening our own infighting. She was the one who coaxed him into rebellion," His almost desperate, saddened tone drew her eyes back to his, “She had him making a fuss about it long before the incident with Mythal. That was merely the tipping point." 

"In his maddened grief over Mythal, she became jealous. She couldn’t bear his mourning a symbol of the very cause she had been working him against. She attempted to run away...." 

He slowed them to a stop, exiting the dancefloor to stand by a long buffet. Falon was looking at the down now, shaking his head regretfully. Halesta found herself wondering at his strange, seemingly sincere show of emotion. She watched his face as he frowned at the marble floor.

"The poor, silly girl. A sentry executed her for her ‘defamation’ of Fen’Harel, of me, and her refusal to go back. In one fell stroke, he lost them both. And his mind too, apparently.”  
  
"Why are you telling me this?"

"Because it's the truth, and you deserve to know it. His hands are no cleaner than the rest of the Evanuris. Excepting myself, probably." 

 

"But you, the rest of you, killed Mythal," Hissing the words as her eyes darted around for any eavesdroppers.

"I can't deny, I'm complicit in that," Handing her a glass of bubbling wine and hanging his head, "Though I didn't commit the act, myself. It was Sylaise who set up the whole thing."

His lips pursed, eyes flitting back and forth in bitter remembrance. She narrowed her eyes, watching him speculatively. 

"And why would Sylaise do a thing like that?"

"Don't you know? She wanted to be Mythal, to become the All-Mother," Falon's upset appeared genuine enough, "Mythal was truly like mother to me. I admit, I was still bitter after she had the others attack me for my bloodlust—"   
He ducked his head shamefully, "I have a bad habit of getting carried away. But I swear, while I gathered with the rest of my Kin to kill her, I never once held the blade. I couldn't bring myself to do it, though that doesn't make me innocent."   
  


Her head was spinning at all of this, but the acute awareness of someone watching caught her attention. A familiar, ghostly figure was standing not too far away, studying her. He was slightly transparent, but not in the usual way of a shade or spirit; dark brown skin and pale blonde hair brightened his gray eyes. He had been in her vision, and now his name rang like a bell in her mind. 

" _ Dirthamen, _ " It fell from her lips in a soft breath.

Falon looked up, first at her, then to the figure. Dirthamen bowed, and while his expression was polite, it remained one of detached observation. Falon grinned at her wide-eyed reaction.

"Oh, how rude of me!" He took her hand, leading her over, "Halesta, allow me to introduce my Brother, Dirthamen."

"You're...not here, but you are," Struggling to find the answer that felt just out of reach; Dirth seemed for a second to almost smile, but arched a brow instead.

"I am still mostly trapped in the Fade," Nodding once in approval.

"Our bond allows him to be with me, in a way," Falon'Din stood smiling brilliantly between them, looking his Brother's exact opposite.

  
Dirthamen glanced at her surreptitiously: a brief but intense look, unfathomably deep with melancholic apology. Before she could fully process the event, he was looking to Falon. 

"We should go."

"Ah, well then," Falon’Din turned, placing a kiss to the tender inside of Halesta's wrist, a softness in his eyes, "We shall meet again soon, Love."

  
Dirthamen bowed again and suddenly, they both had disappeared. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * * *
> 
> The "Memorillum" is a concept I based on the Trespasser codex entry, [Vir Dirthara: Raising the Sonallium](https://dragonage.fandom.com/wiki/Codex_entry:_Vir_Dirthara:_Raising_the_Sonallium).  
> Basically, it is a compilation of various individuals' memories of a single event, encapsulated in a permeable magic sphere, so that anyone can enter and experience the event, whether they were actually present or not. The multiple sources allow for the best approximate accuracy of the events, and the magic maintains an infinite time loop. 
> 
> This is totally, 100% made-up by myself, and therefore has pretty much zero Canon to back it up. Sorry to those of you who absolutely hate me for this. Forgive me my sins.


	14. Slow Dance With You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Halesta finds her way out of the Memorillum with help from Solas, they discuss her conversation with Falon'Din, and Solas opens up for the first time about his own past. Solas's repressed sexual frustrations leads to a steamy nightmare, courtesy of a desire demon. Halesta has a PTSD episode.
> 
>    
> [Link to some of my concept drawings for this chapter](https://ladylike-foxes.tumblr.com/post/184122974523/some-character-concept-work-and-different-styles)  
> This chapter is named for the song "Slow Dance With You" by Babeo Baggins  
> ~better known as the song Marceline sings in the Adventure Time episode, "Marcy & Hunson" (season 9 episode 7)~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for hanging in there with me!! ❤A special thank you to my lovely friend (and one damn amazing writer), Viking, for allowing me to borrow her character, so I didn't spend countless hours creating my own--Thank you, ilysm ❤
> 
>  
> 
> **Enara** is an original character belonging to [Viking_woman](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Viking_woman/pseuds/Viking_woman), an ancient Elvhen warrior and mage. **For the purposes of this fic, Viking has generously allowed me to write Enara as Solas's cousin instead of his sister** , as is their relation in Viking's original headcanon.  
> [ **[More Enara re: thevikingwoman on Tumblr]**](https://thevikingwoman.tumblr.com/tagged/enara)  
> 
> 
> * * *
> 
>   
> **Elvhen Translations:**  
>  Da'len - Little one (regularly used as an endearment in this au)  
> Da'Halevune - Little moonfox  
> Ir abelas - I am sorry  
> Eluvian - Mirror; literally 'seeing glass'  
> Vara haim-ma, banal'len - "Be gone, demon" (pieced together using DAwiki and lingojam/elvenDAI)  
> Vhenan - lit. My heart  
> Ma' lath - My love  
>  ***The Memorillum is described in the end notes***  
> 
> 
> * * *

* * *

  
Halesta carefully scanned the ballroom for the tenth time, they were nowhere to be found. Her eyes slid blindly over the small sea of unfamiliar Elvhen.  


"Pardon me, have we met?"

At her side, the unmistakable voice sent a small thrill through her. Turning to see those same sea-storm eyes in a younger face, her breath caught in her chest. Fen'Harel stood in all his glory beside her, hands clasped confidently behind him, smirking down at her with curiosity danced behind his eyes. _Oh_.

"No," Finally finding her composure, "Not yet."

"But...we will," That same arching brow, "Only, not just now?"

The way he was looking at her, as though she were something entirely new, made her insides feel too light and fluttery. This was not a good situation. She needed to figure out how to get out of this sphere. She broke his stare, scanning the room again for where she had come in, but there was no obvious exit. She glanced to the hall where Mythal had exited earlier.  


"What may I call you then, Little one?" There was something bewitching in his tone, his warm breath on her ear, but she told herself she wouldn't look at him again.  
"Until we meet, that is."

"Inquisitor," Biting the inside of her cheek so as not to smile at her own joke, "Or Herald, if you like."

"Hm. Well, Inquisitor," Dissatisfied, but still intrigued enough to play along, "May I have the pleasure of your joining me for a dance?"

"I'm not certain it's the best idea," Struggling to remain composed while making such a joke at his expense; she glanced at him sidelong, finding it was easier, "It could lead to trouble."  


"You have not heard, Da’len? I _adore_ trouble."

_Don't I know it_ , fighting back a giggle as she returned to searching for an escape, "And at any rate, I'm afraid I may be all danced out."

"After witnessing how Falon was slinging you around the dance floor, one can hardly blame you."  


Her head snapped around at that, meeting his knowing smirk with a furrowed brow. She could feel the faint swishing skirt of her imagined dress as she turned sharply.

"You were watching me?"

"How could I help myself? Unthinkable, to take my eyes off of the most beautiful creature in the room."

“I don’t like that,” Eyes narrowing at him in suspicion.

“Being the most beautiful creature in the room?”

“Being watched.”

Eyes glinting knowingly, he smirked again— _infuriatingly, gorgeously_ —and tucked a loose lock behind her ear. She turned her back again, unable to look at him a moment longer. She was acutely aware of how exhausted she was, and still without any clue as how to escape. And the longer she spent in the company of the youthful Fen’Harel, the greater her risk of breaking the memory.

  
“Excuse me, Miss, but was that young man bothering you?”

It was that same voice, dark velvet and honeyed cream, but with a deeper timbre, one gained with age and experience. Solas, _her Solas_ , had appeared in his own place. She nearly threw her arms around his neck, but restrained herself; a smile broke over her face. He stood wearing his memory’s clothes, and she allowed herself to gawp for a moment before responding.  


“Not terribly much,” Playing along, “He merely wanted a dance.”

"Ah, and I take it the Lady did not care to dance," Smiling more with his eyes than his lips, which lay calm and polite.

"Not necessarily, he just hardly seemed the appropriate partner," She teased, lowering her voice, "Plus, he was distracting me from figuring out to get the hell out of this memory."

"Distracting, hm?"

Solas was obviously feeling playful, gaze skimming along the figure the memory had created for her to fit in; but she was swiftly running out of energy.

"Yeah yeah, you're gorgeous, you brat," Swatting at him in feigned annoyance, "But seriously, get this 'lady' out of here. I'm tired and there's something important I'm supposed to be telling you."

If only she could remember what that was. The bubbling wine and lack of sleep were clouding her mind, and the warmth of his body so close was compounding the affect.  


"It is like all other magic, Da'len," He took her hand and they faced the wall, "It is all about intent. Just focus on your intention to leave, and—" The brief sensation of falling in reverse—"You are free."

They were once again outside of the sphere, though it's warm light shimmered over the floor beneath them. And the orchestra, she could somehow still hear them playing...?

"Now. May I have this dance, my Lady?"

  
She allowed him to pull her in, gently draping her arms around his neck; though it was such a lengthy reach, only her wrists crossed. His hands on her hips pressed her firmly against him, head resting against his chest; his head bent so that his lips brushed the tip of her ear. He didn't speak, only hummed along with the music, as they slowly rocked back and forth in a small circle.  
  
She let her eyes close, taking in his scent as she did every night before sleep: faintest hint of rich chocolate; heavy rain in a forest of cedar and sandalwood;  waxy warm amber: vanilla and lavender blooms, pressed like love letters between the pages of ancient books. Halie hadn't realized she had begun to nod off until one of his long arms was slipping beneath the bend of knees.  


"Wait, wait—" Flailing arms and legs not even unseating his hold in the slightest, "It's _important_!"

"Too important to wait until you've gotten some sleep?" Reproving tone offset by amusement.

" _Yes_. You could be in danger," Still struggling in vain against his gently solid grasp, " Falon was in the Memorillum!"

"We were all there at some point or other that night, da'Halevune," Purring reassuringly in her ear.

" _No._ Like, _the_ _real_ Falon was there—"  


He nearly dropped her in his urgency to set her on her feet, immediately tilting her chin this way and that, checking for marks or wounds. Even silly enough in his desperation that his eyes darted towards the shadowed corners of the room, pulling her toward him as if in an attempt to protect her from something unseen.

"Did he hurt you again?" Low and hissing, dripping venom, "I swear he will beg for death when I have gotten my hands on him—"

"He's gone," She said with a certainty that, had she been less exhausted, she may have questioned, "He left long before you, the real you, showed up."  


Clearly baffled, for the first time since meeting him, Solas appeared as though he should sit down lest he harm himself. She guided him to the far wall, pressing him down to where a bench stood, rather conveniently.

"What did he do?"

"Nothing, actually. Told me how not to break the memory, apologized for torturing me,  asked for a dance—"

"He was attempting to manipulate you, you know," Sea-storm eyes, more storm than sea, searching her face wildly, "He is not sorry."

"I know, silly," Reassuring smile, grazing his angular cheek with the palm of her hand, "I am a lot of things, but gullible isn't one of them."

"Ir abelas— of course not," His eyes still scrutinizing her expression for anything left unsaid.  


"He gave me the whole _'enemy of my enemy'_ spiel, told me that there were things I deserved to know," Flapping her hand dismissively.   
"Y'know, _blahblahblah_. Really, he only came here to talk to me, or recruit me. Whichever. It didn't work, obviously, but I thought you should know."

Solas nodded absently, stone-faced, eyes drifting off to double check the shadows. Again he lifted her chin, looking her over once more to be sure, before standing.

"He was alone?"

"Yes."

She hadn't hesitated—or, at least not so that Solas noticed—but there had been something in the look she had shared with Dirthamen. Something that told her he had nothing to do with any of this, not willingly... Something that told her to it was okay to keep to herself. Perhaps she was wrong: but _feel first_ , her mother had said, _reason second_ . And her feelings said that Solas needn't know about Dirthamen. For now.  


He scooped her up again, heading toward the doors bearing the plaque that had first led her into the dreamlike Memorillum. She was too exhausted to resist this time, but she did rest her lips so they brushed against his neck.

"Where're we going?"

"First, I am putting you to bed," She heard his swallow hard, his pulse thrumming against her mouth, "You are going to sleep in a bed fit for a self-proclaimed goddess."

"But you're leaving?" Emerging more of a whimper than she would have liked.

"Only for a moment, to check the rest of the palace, and seal the Eluvians," Lightly into her ear, a weak attempt at teasing, "So none can steal you away from me while we sleep."

Chuckling softly against the tender skin of his throat, she dozed off, falling fast into the Fade.

 

* * *

 

His Lieutenants had been understandably surprised to see him, and noticeably concerned when they realized he was immediately leaving again. They were further surprised at his orders: _"To take any and all measures necessary to assure the safety of the former Inquisitor and co."_ He revealed that Falon'Din had been released, that he was personally looking after the "Herald", that all Eluvians were to be reclaimed and their passphrases and ruins were to be changed.   
His highest ranking officer was handed a handful of letters with the orders to hand-deliver them as quickly as possible. Quickly grabbing a few small things from his quarters, Fen'Harel nodded in appreciation before slipping back through the mirror to the cool, vast silence of Andruil's mountain palace.  


He found Halesta lying on her back, eyes closed, halo of curls fanned across the pillow behind her. Her hands were folded over her stomach, one placed delicately atop the other, in an almost unnatural manner, like she had been staged for viewing. The pale blue cast of ambient light gave her complexion a pallid quality and, for a moment, he felt he was envisioning her funeral pyre. As he approached, she stretched over the mattress, releasing his unease with a silent sigh of relief.

"You were gone for a long time," Eyelids still closed, speech slurred from sleep.

"No longer than half an hour," Sitting beside her on the large mattress.  


"So, who was she?" Her lashes still kissed her cheeks, but he knew she was carefully watching his face through them, "The girl you were so in love with, that you risked turning even Mythal against you?"

"Ah. Is that what Falon told you?"

"Oh, he told me all sorts of horrible stories about you. He called you, oh what was it? ' _A hedonist of the highest order',_ " She chuckled softly, "Told me of all the slaves you had, and how you 'used them well'. Trying to make me see you with fresh shock and disgust."

"And did he succeed?" Her lashes fluttered open, pinning him with a curious look.

"I never knew that man. I know the man he grew to become. I know Solas," A soft, wry smile played at her lips.   
"It's not my place to condemn you for things you did 3,000-something years before I was even born. I'm here, _now,_ to make sure you don't repeat any of those mistakes."  


He stared at her for a long moment. Largely out of the baffling words that had come out of her mouth; partly because he wanted to kiss her. Though, maybe it was the other way around.  


"So," Asking again as she settled back into the pillows, patting the mattress beside her, "Who was this great love of yours?"

"I loved her, but it was not the star-crossed romance Falon believes," Sighing, he settled down beside her, and she placed her ear to his chest.

"You don't have to worry about making me jealous, Solas," Teasingly scolding.   
"' _Give me not a man whose love would drive him mad. Give me, instead, a man whose love would drive him to revolution...'_ Remember?"  


"It is hardly a concern of jealousy. Enara was my cousin. More akin to a sister, truly, as her parents raised us together after my parents died," He smiled a little as Halie's brows raised in surprise.

"She was fierce and fiery, and far more extroverted than I. A fighter. I had not seen her in years when I discovered she had been, ah, _conscripted_ by Falon'Din. It was unbearable for her, all of the cruelty and senseless bloodshed she witnessed. It was safer for her, for us both, if our meetings appeared as simple trysts, so we allowed them to believe what they wished. Falon was correct in one thing, though: it was Enara who reminded me of what my fate might have been if Mythal had not favored me. Enara helped me to remember the plight of the People."  


Given the long silence that followed, he assumed, or perhaps hoped, that Halesta had fallen asleep; but after enough time had passed to startle him, she sat up and looked him in the eye.

"Thank you, Solas."

"For?"

"Being honest with me. Opening up, for once," She breathed a laugh, curling back up against his chest. "I was beginning to believe _'I saw it in the Fade'_ was the only answer you were ever going to give me. Now I have a sliver of hope that you just might trust me, after all."

"Why would you doubt that I trust you?"

"It's always been a bit one-sided with us, you have to admit. How many secrets do I have left that you don't already know?" She placed her palm over his heart, "But I know so little about you. You keep all your cards right here."

  
He sighed softly, his silent reply formed before allowing a second thought: _The same place I keep you_.

  
  


_His mind was a fog. Halesta arched wantonly over him, grinding her hips over his hardened cock as it strained against his breeches toward her frilly small-clothes. The stretch of bare skin drawing his eyes up to a delicate matching breastband. Her strength never ceased to surprise, pinning both of his wrists to the headboard above. Wide lilac eyes meeting his own as her wetted lips, flushed and swollen with kisses, parted slightly in innocence. He didn't resist, watching in slack-jawed awe as her small form moved over him._  
  
_"Now we can both get what we want...."_

_Her face began to morph: smile too wide, teeth too long and jagged, eyes black as Void._  
  
_"You broke my heart, and now, I get to tear yours from your chest—"_  
  
_"Vara haim-ma, banal'len!"_  
  
_Flinging the cackling desire demon back with intense force, only to hear it's continued mocking laughter echo around him as it fled...._

 

He woke with a gasp, sweat dripping from his brow.

"Andraste's tits, Solas," His Halesta chuckled at his side, nodding light-heartedly to the tent in his trousers, "Were you having a nightmare or a sex dream?"

"Both," Rubbing his eyes, burying his flushed face in his hands.

"Wanna talk about it?"

Voice hoarse from sleep but sincere, without teasing. Hearing the shuffle of the sheets as she rolled to face him, feeling the mattress shift weight as she propped herself up on an elbow. Even from between his fingers, he caught the scent of her hair wafting from the gesture. She was slowly driving him mad, and she hadn't the faintest idea.

"Not particularly," Grumbling in frustration, cursing the heat that crossed his face from ear to ear.

"Okay," That soft patience, that incensing understanding.  


Unthinking, he suddenly grasped her by the shoulders: his overwhelming desire to kiss that tenderness from her, to devour it as he would devour her— But fear flashed behind her eyes, wide with the sudden shock, searching his face blindly, and as quickly as he had grabbed hold of her, he retreated. She had begun to hyperventilate, even as he released her. Trembling violently, her body froze in the position he had held it, but her gaze was distant. That same pure, unnatural fear pooled in her blank stare, a single rivulet of blood trickling from her nose.  


"Halie? _Halesta?_ " Careful not to touch her again, voice desperate and cracking with panic, "I am so sorry! W-what can I do?"

A small eternity of hysterical gasping passed before something of herself returned. Teary gaze still far away, she reached out, clenching his hand frantically.

" _Solas—_ " In a small voice, pleading, brimming with fathomless horror like he had never heard from her.

"I am here, Vhenan," Risking a gentle stroke of her cheek, wiping the blood from her lips, "I swear on my life you are safe. I am right here."  


Finally, the glaze faded from her eyes and she looked at him, truly seeing him. In an instant she had thrown herself bodily, sobbing and shivering, into his arms.

"I'm so sorry," Barely discernible through the tears and muffled by his shirt, "I don't know what happened. For a moment, I forgot it was you, forgot where I was? It...Falon'Din...I—"

" _Shh_ , no, no," Face pressed into her hair, "I do not know what came over me, grabbing you like that. _Ir abelas,_ ma' lath. I swear, I will _never_ lay hands—"

"Don't say never," Her fingers digging into the very flesh beneath his shirt, " _Please_ , Solas, don't say never— _I want_...."

  
Stopping short, she buried her face further into his chest. _She wants_ ...what? _Him?_ No. Now was not the time. Pushing any thoughts of implication aside, he pulled her into his lap; cooing comfortingly as he rocked them both back to sleep.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **The "Memorillum"** is a concept I based on the Trespasser codex entry, [Vir Dirthara: Raising the Sonallium](https://dragonage.fandom.com/wiki/Codex_entry:_Vir_Dirthara:_Raising_the_Sonallium).  
> Basically, it is a compilation of various individuals' memories of a single event, encapsulated in a permeable magic sphere, so that anyone can enter and experience the event, whether they were actually present or not. The multiple sources allow for the best approximate accuracy of the events, and the magic maintains an infinite time loop.  
> This is totally, 100% made-up by myself, and therefore has pretty much zero Canon to back it up. Sorry to those of you who absolutely hate me for this. Forgive me my sins.


	15. Secret

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Falon'Din consults Dirthamen on the secrets of the illusive Halesta.
> 
> This chapter is named for the song "Secret" by Angel Snow

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Translations:**  
>  Ma'lin - My blood; my kin  
>  da'Hale - Little fox  
>  Mir mi'durgen - My diamond  
> 
> 
>   
> 
> 
> * * *

Strutting like a rooster into the hall, Falon'Din spun smoothly on his heel to face his Brother while tossing his cloak over his slave's outstretched arm. Dirthamen followed slowly, markedly less enthusiastic, politely declining Vallas's offer to take his coat with soft thanks. Dirth's gentle treatment of the help nearly took the wind out his sails, but his Brother's typical mien of disinterest was a positive sign.   
  


"So?"

"Well," Dirthamen folded his arms across his chest, "She does not trust you, and never will."

Half-shrugging appreciatively, he flopped into his throne, "Wise girl."  
  


"While she saw through your exaggerations, she  _ did _ appreciate your honesty. She certainly took your story into consideration—" 

"Excellent!"

"—But she has a forgiving nature, so it is unlikely to distance her from Fen'Harel."

  
"Ugh!" Falon tossed his head back with theatrical exasperation, snapping at Vallas to bring some wine.

"So we end our night without anything to show for."

Dirthamen shrugged, "At least you have managed to cast yourself in a more sympathetic light. That might work to your benefit, eventually."   
  


"Oh?" A warm, creeping sensation of delight pooled in his belly as he leaned forward keenly, "Pray tell."

"You acknowledged the... _distasteful_ behavior of your past. You showed some genuine regret regarding the death of the slave girl, and of Mythal," An alien tone lingered at the edges of his Brother's voice, something vaguely like intrigue.   
"Some small part of her identified with you."

  
"Well, a small tear in silk is easier to rip than no tear at all," A pleased chuckle prefacing a gratified gulp of wine, "And there's still hope in that memory the demon is hounding."  


Dirth hummed in agreement, his countenance seemingly having returned to its default apathy. Falon’Din studied his Kin, still more shade than solid, recalling the look on the face of his little fox when she first laid eyes on Dirthamen. Shock, fascination, awe: only the first of which had appeared when first meeting  _ him _ . The way his Brother's name had fallen from her lips.... Falon suddenly found himself annoyed.

"The way she reacted when she saw you," Staring nonchalantly at the wine he swirled in its chalice, "Fascinating, no?"

"She has visions. She had seen us in one, but did not recognize me then, as I was still but a shadow," Explanation unguarded, matter-of-fact.

"Visions? And you're only just telling me this now?" On his feet and nose to nose with his Brother in an instant.   
  


"Calm yourself, ma'lin," Dirthamen brushed Falon's hair back from his face with a phantom hand, "I could not know until she was so close. Besides, they are scarce and too vague as to be of any help or consequence—"  


"But, where do they come from? Who sends these visions?" 

"It is completely unknown: even I cannot fathom it. But they cause her debilitating headaches, and she seems to have no ability to glean any meaning or advantage from them. She feels them a curse."

"How curious," Falon returned to his languid recline, "She becomes more and more tantalizing, my da'Hale...."   
  


Rolling his wrist one last time, he turned up the glass, draining the dregs with a renewed vigor. Falon smacked his lips before flashing Dirthamen an adoring smile.

"You and your Secrets, mir mi'durgen. I would be lost without you."


	16. Stuck

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Halesta deals with some haunting memories in her dreams, then she and Solas bear witness to a glimpse of the horror of Ghilan'nain's true nature. Solas tries to lighten Halie's mood by showing her the opulent retreat of the ancient Elvhen baths, and then they make their plans to head into Tevinter.
> 
> This chapter is named for the song "Stuck" by Lost Kings, Feat. Tove Styrke
> 
> I'm SO sorry this update took so long, I had some art commissions to do, and then I was stuck cause I needed to work on their interpersonal stuff and so I didn't have a lot of forward momentum to keep me going....Anyway, I hope to make it up to you all very soon!! Thank you so much for tolerating me!!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Probably unnecessary translations:  
> Vallaslin: Blood writing; The art of tattooing adopted by some elves to more prominently display their worship of the traditional elven pantheon.  
> Ar lasa mala revas: "You are free." More literally "I give you your freedom."  
> Da’Halevune: Little moonfox  
> Hahren: Elder; used as a term of respect by the Dalish as well as by city elves for the leader of an alienage.  
> Fendehis: Meaning officially undefined as of yet; a common curse.  
> Eluvian: Mirror; literally "seeing glass."
> 
> * * *

Later, Solas would estimate they had slept for nearly two days. Well, Halesta had, anyway. Solas had woken every so often to make rounds of the palace, seemly needing the assurance they were entirely alone. He would drift in and out of Halie's dreams with status updates, and she would do her best not to roll her eyes at his anxiety. It was adorable, how worried he was on her behalf. Other than that, he mostly kept to the edges of her conscious.  
The Fade brought her memories as dreams. None of them were terribly unpleasant, but they all had a strange edge to them. Like the vague suggestion of an underlying meaning, a leading question only alluded to rather than asked outright. She passed through her time with the clan, the focused images of her mother's face, the day she earned her Vallaslin. Then, seemingly random memories: cities she had travelled and the occasional glimpse of lone, distinctly marked faces therein; scattered Dalish standing out in Inquisiton crowds, made clear in her mind by the colorful bloodwriting on their faces while all others seemed a blur. Had she abandon her people? Is that what her subconscious was trying to tell her?  
It had been a while since Solas had last checked in, and she didn't feel his presence nearby. No doubt doing his rounds, she smiled to herself at the thought. 

_ "Ar lasa mala revas,"  _ His voice rang as clear as a bell, as a mountain spring,  _ "You are free." _

When she turned, she could see herself standing there, in Crestwood, facing Solas. She looked so small beside him. He was looking away from her, expression hardened....

_ "I am sorry. I distracted you from your duty. It will never happen again." _

_ "Solas…" _ She watched herself as she reached out toward him, but he had taken a step back, pulling away.

_ "Please, Vhenan—" _

_ "Tell me you don’t care," _ She had nearly forgotten how angry she had been; snarling as she charged toward him, despite his towering over her.

_ "I...cannot do that," _ He had flinched as she shoved him with such force, he stumbled back a step.

_ "Tell me I was some casual dalliance," _ Shoving him twice more, Solas simply letting her,  __ "So I can call you a coldhearted son of a bitch and move on! Coward—"  
  


She closed her eyes instead of watching herself storm off, could hear the weak  _ "I am sorry" _ Solas had muttered in her wake. She couldn't bring herself to open her eyes again, even as she felt the Fade shift around her. She could feel the solid warmth of Da'assan beneath her, the mount's steady pace. 

_ "Ar lasa mala revas. You are so beautiful," _ Cole speaking softly some distance behind her,  _ "But then you turned away. Why?" _

_ "I had no choice," _ Solas had whispered uncomfortably in response.

_ "She is bare-faced, embarrassed, and she doesn't know," _ She hadn't noticed at the time the mixture of heartache and disapproval that had mingled in Cole's usually matter-of-fact tone,  _ "She thinks it's because of her—" _

" _ Enough! _ " Her voice echoing in the vacant Fade around her....   
  


She woke with a start, skin already burning with fury and confusion. She knew now why he had panicked, had taken her Vallaslin and broken her heart. She understood, and while she still thought he had acted an idiot, she had forgiven him. So why, why did it still hurt so much? Had she abandoned her People by allowing him to take her Vallaslin? Grumbling to herself, she rubbed her aching scarred arm; it hadn't been quite so sore in recent months, but maybe the ancient magic here was affecting it.

"Are you okay?" Solas caught her unawares, looking up to find him standing near the end of the bed.

"Huh? Oh, yeah," Swinging her feet onto the floor, rubbing the crease from her brow, "Yeah, I'm fine."

She teetered over to him, subduing a shiver as his hands gliding up her arms and shoulders, along the arch of her neck, to cradle her face. She let him tilt her chin up, looking her over. She was helpless against the smile that curled her lips at meeting his gaze, or the blush that bloomed up from her chest. 

"Bad dreams?" The concern slowly easing from his face.

"Er, no. Not really," Ducking, in case he should see it in her eyes, "More... irritating than bad."

Humming, unconvinced but willing to let it be. He grabbed a blanket from the bed and wrapped it around her before sliding a hand back down to entwine their fingers. 

"Come with me," A poorly veiled excitement at the fringes of his voice, "I found the map."

  
He led her through the beneath the crystalline arches of the massive hall, now a coruscating chapel of prismatic light from the sun shining in from somewhere above. They passed through a corridor, through the large and unwelcoming dining hall, and into a drawing room. At the far side, Solas had left the hidden door open to a dark, cold chamber that reminded her of the prison cells beneath Haven's Chantry. Standing back, he gestured for her to enter first, and she stepped warily into the circular room.   
It was  _ horrific _ : in the seemingly sourceless pallid green glow, Halesta determined they stood in some bizarre laboratory of sorts. The only identifiable aspect was an impressively extensive alchemy workspace. Scattered amongst the macabre, unfamiliar apparatuses and mechanisms stood silhouetted creatures, stuffed and mounted. These hunting trophies were unrecognizable, abhorrent beasts, nearly unbearable to look at, yet aside from the thick layer of dust, they showed little wear or age. Shelves upon shelves lined the walls, holding neatly placed jars: each held ever more unholy specimens, floating in amber fluid, and one she would've sworn was an Elvhen fetus, if she could have brought herself to examine it. She gagged quietly, turning only to stumble into Solas's steady form.    
  


"It is repulsive, I know," Smoothing her hair soothingly, "But over here, at the desk." 

Guiding her over to a small, singular table, he shifted aside the scattering of brittle papers. The faded map was unlabeled, but she recognized the coastline of Tevinter, the peninsula of Rivain jutting from Antiva's north eastern shores. The topographic landmarks had changed, but a small  _ x _ was placed, she knew from modern maps, where the Arlathan Forest met the northernmost base of The Hundred Pillars. It was the only location marked at all, and so discreet that it could have been easily overlooked. Tucked beneath the corner was another small, more vague sketch of the immediate area surrounding Ghilan'nain's secret sanctum.

"This is the one we need," A furrow deepened between his brows, "But it is too fragile to carry. I fear it may be too brittle to risk touching."

"That's an easy fix. Do you have a spare piece of parchment on you?"

"I brought this," Offering a curling stretch of blank paper, "Though I do not feel comfortable attempting to trace the original—"

Closing her eyes, Halesta outstretched a hand over the ancient map, quietly muttering the incantation until the ink illumined. Quickly taking the new sheet and placing it atop the old, she mumbled the rest of the spell until the shapes began to slowly form anew, as though bleeding up through the paper. She blew lightly on the new ink, though it dried almost instantly, and rolled the page back up. Handing it to Solas with a smug grin, she was pleased to see his brow arched in amused disapproval. 

"A little trick Viv taught me," Winking, "Comes in handy when you need to forge a signature."

"Why would you need to forge a signature?" Curiosity tinting his disapproval; she just shrugged and smiled.   
  


Despite her disgust, she couldn't help herself from taking another look around the chamber. It was too much. She had known Ghilan'nain was no benevolent deity for long enough now, but this.... This had surpassed even Halesta's most twisted imaginings. Ducking her head, she quickly exited the room, with Solas fast on her heels.

"She was not always so demented," Offered softly, like an apology.

"What changed?" She waited, facing away while he closed the hidden door behind them.

"At a guess? Andruil," Wry, sorrowful, "But truthfully, only Ghilan'nain could know."   
  


He paused a moment, fingers fluttered hesitantly in her periphery before taking her hand again, leading her back the way they came. When they returned to the room, he tucked the map safely away in his rucksack and removed the blanket from her shoulders. 

"I have a more pleasant surprise for you," Smile in his voice, placing his hands over her eyes.

 

* * *

 

Solas led her down the stairs carefully: half-carrying her as she held fast to his wrists, lifting herself free of the stone floor. She made a small, pleasant noise when they stepped into the thick humidity. Just a few more steps, and he released her.   
She took in the bath in awe: the large steaming pool lined in carved marble and gold pillars, the faded fresco of Elvhen nymphs frolicking on the ceiling overhead. Spying her bath oils neatly arranged with an ivory comb and folded drying cloth on the lip of the pool, she turned to pin him with a coy glance.

"Is this your way of telling me I need a bath, Hahren?"

"Pardon? No! I merely thought you might enjoy it—"

"I'm teasing," Wrinkling her nose before grinning, "Thank you, truly. It's lovely."

"Unless you require assistance untangling your hair," Trying his best to convey light-hearted indifference, "I'll leave you to it."

Halesta furrowed her brow, reaching up tentatively to touch at the matted and knotted curls. He couldn't help but smile at the way her lips pursed, twisting in annoyance at her eternally difficult mane. Eyes darting to the small cluster of her things before flickering back up to his own.

"Yeah, I guess I could use some help," Still, uncertainty lingered about her as she fingered the hem of her shirt.    


_ Ah. _ Turning back to the dressing stalls at the base of the stairs, he pulled one of the old curtains free, tearing it easily into two separate lengths of pale cloth. She accepted them with a grateful smile, slipping behind the curtain of the next stall. 

Pulling his shirt off over his head and folding it neatly, he set it alongside the towels before wading into the steaming water. He knew he should feel nervous or, at the very least, ashamed of himself: he wasn't exactly subtle with his offer to stay, and she seemed rather hesitant. Perhaps he should go.... He moved back toward the stairs, but she was already emerging from the stall. A vision in the ambient light, reflections of teal ripples dancing over her simple rag clothing and pale Moonskin. She had wrapped one length around her waist in a skirt, while the other hung by tattered straps from her shoulders, falling just below the arch of her ribs and exposing the bare flesh of her stomach.   
It was a small eternity, an infinite second of tension, like happening across a wild animal on a dark, empty road. She seemed to hesitate again, though she looked well past him. Then, with a few long, determined strides, almost dancing to the top of the stairs, she dove gracefully into the pool. It was a shallow dive, angled for distance rather than depth. Finally she broke the surface at the far end with a brief gasping laugh, tossing her head back in an arc of prismatic rain. 

"The water is so hot!" He exhaled a chuckle of delight at her baffled surprise.

"It is a natural hot spring found inside the mountain," The obviousness in his tone unintentional, "Why did you think it is so much warmer in here?"

"Ancient magical indoor heating?" Laugh light and unashamed, swimming toward him, "I don't know. I was dreading a cold bath, color me pleasantly surprised."    


Finding the place where her toes at last touched the bottom, she walked herself the rest of the way toward him. Her hair wet was longer and darker: pearlescent pewter rather than opaline silver, weighted ringlets almost long enough to cover her chest. Her makeshift shirt clung sheer to her skin, doing little to veil the hardened blush of her nipples, dripping rivulets down her torso. The hem of her skirt floated slightly around her thighs, translucent enough to outline the opaque V of her smalls beneath. She looked a little breathless, but had an air of child-like nonchalance. Artless immodesty. She picked up the comb, placing it in his hand like a wordless order. Solas sat on the stairs while she propped her elbows on his knees, legs languidly kicking to keep herself in place. Setting the comb aside, he instead worked into her curls a slow lather of shampoo. He took his time with this: this small act of devotion, of worship. Her eyes fell close and she was softly humming a tune distantly familiar.   
  
So anciently intimate to be almost excruciating for so simple a act. He had washed her hair countless times, but that was years ago now, a different lifetime. Wild and unruly and still possessing him entirely, her hair, her hair, her hair. Leaning her back slowly, leaving just her resting face above the surface, carding his fingers through the strands to her scalp. Gentle ruffling washed away the soap, rising her hair in tender waves before raising her up again.   
He was thorough, massaging the oiled lotion into the heavy waves before daring to raise the comb. Starting at the ends, he carefully untangled each tangled lock, moving slowly upwards toward her scalp. Not until he leaned forward to gather the hair around her face and ears did he notice: the gooseflesh raised on her arms; the smattered flush across her chest; her shallow, shuddering breaths; the near imperceptible ripples, rolling out from her sternum in rapid succession to keep time with the forceful beating of her heart. Lightheaded and weightlessness in his chest, he lowered her again to rinse her hair. This time, her eyes fluttered open, fixed on his face. Lips swollen and red and parted slightly, as though freshly kissed; the rapid rise and fall of her chest.    


It couldn't have been a minute, but the intensity had been too much for them both. She ducked underwater and out of his grasp, reemerging several feet away. Solas found himself holding his breath, frozen in place. Had he done something? Overstepped, crossed one of their ever-shifting lines? But after a quick gasp for air, she splashed him. Any skin that had been dry before wading in was certainly soaked now.   
She stood perfectly still and blank-faced, wide eyes watching for his reaction; the only hint at playfulness was the slightest telltale flare of her nostrils and an impish glint in her eye. She was merely waiting for him to decide whether to play along or get huffy. What was it about women, that they could be so very many different things at once? He put on his best _Disapproving Hahren_ mein.

"Halesta...." 

Low and dangerous, a lure masquerading as a warning. She cocked her head, angling slightly away in a silent dare. He took a step toward her, she didn't move. Another step met by another big splash, cackling wickedly as she poised to swim away— But when his expression only appeared to harden, she hesitated. Got her....  
She saw him lunge and dove, but he had a headstart and reach on his side. Catching her ankle, he pulls her in, but she's quick and small and twists easily out of his grasp by swimming through his legs. He turns around...but she's nowhere to be seen.  _ Fendehis _ —he had forgotten that little trick. 

"Why run,  _ Da'Halevune _ ?" Purring tauntingly in to the empty air, "I thought you wanted to play?"

"Who's running?—" 

He barely had time to register the words before she had jumped on his back, arms locked gently around his neck. Flipping her over his head was nothing, and he opened his eyes under the water, expecting another quick attack...but she merely allowed herself to sink. Floating a few feet shy of the bottom, her eyes remained shut for a long moment; hair billowing around her face, an ethereal vision of serenity, like a death hard won.   
When her eyes opened and seeing his concern, she smiled softly, reaching out a hand toward him. She aligned the heels of their hands as though comparing their size, studying the length of his fingers while mirroring the gesture with their opposite hands. His lungs had begun to burn, easily ignored at first but growing increasingly urgent. Even so, nothing seemed to matter outside of this moment of warm, silent weightlessness. This place, with her in it, took on a sense of divine safety, the holy sanctuary of sacred ground. Regardless, he couldn't hold his breath anymore.  
Tugging her tenderly against his chest and wrapping his arms around her waist, he returned them to the surface. They both gasped for air, but she seemed to recover more easily than he did, her arms remained draped loosely around his neck. 

"I was unaware you are able to hold your breath for so long," Lips murmuring against the skin at her temple, "Quite impressive."

"I've had a lot of practice," Her breathy laughter tinted by something he couldn't quite name.

He continued to hold her, and she made no sign of wanting to be released, even resting her cheek on his shoulder. Bobbing strangely vertical: like an old, hollow log in a clear, calm lake. Despite the warmth of the pool, her wet skin was pleasantly cool against his, her scent bathing him anew. They stayed like this for a few silent minutes, the ache of this moment's inevitable ending already beginning within his chest.

"This is so strange." 

Her voice always broke silence gently, like easing a door closed. He didn't want to acknowledge that she'd said it, but he didn't feel he had a choice; he mustered a simple,  _ "Hm?" _

"Being with you, here," She shrugged against him, head remaining on his shoulder, "Not the bath—Or, not just the bath. This whole structure. We're in your world. I mean, obviously not this palace, specifically, but.... You know what I mean, anyway, right?"

"Except, this is not my world," Thoughtfully, as he watched the floating tendrils of her hair.  
"My world was endless exploring, when the Fade intermingled with the very air I breathed. Even upon receiving an estate of my own, I was rarely there, and never for long. There was too much to learn, to experience."

  
"You're the leaving kind." 

It wasn't an accusation, merely an observation, but something colored her tone that shut him up and made him consider this.

"What about you?" After a moment of silence, more tender than he'd intended, "What kind are you?"

She made a sudden, hollow noise: a laugh or scoff, or perhaps a sob. He wasn't sure what to make of it. She withdrew, just slightly, and did not look at him, even as he carefully studied her the hardened profile of her face. 

"Me? I'm the doomed kind," She smiled to herself, but it was bitter, "I don't know. Lately I wonder if I'm anything of my own at all."

He felt his brow furrow, "What do you mean?"

She half-shrugged, only her arms atop his keeping her above water. She had a distance about her, despite his still holding her.

"I only exist when I've got a role to play: an army to lead, a world to save. Outside of that, I don't know if I'm even a person at all."

She didn't allow him the opportunity to reply, not that he knew what to say. She ducked beneath the surface and swam to where she could stand, ringing out her hair as she moved toward the stairs. He followed in slow silence, watching the shifting muscles of her back as she pulled her top over her head, letting it hit the floor with an unceremonious squelch. She did the same with her skirt before taking the towel to her skin. Lastly, she pulled on the long nightshift she had worn down here, carefully easing her soaked smalls off as she pulled the shirt hem down.   
He waited until she faced him again before climbing the stairs himself. She rang out the dripping cloth and small-clothes, then blotted her hair while he replaced his pants with the remaining towel. They returned to the room, changing into fresh clothes discussing their plans for Tevinter.    
  
  


Sitting cross-legged on the bed, still-wet curls draped over the damp shoulders of her tunic, Halesta appeared more herself; the dark cloud looming over her expression seemed to have dissipated. She leaned forward keenly as he brought out his maps, laying his locations of Eluvians over the one they had copied earlier in the day. Eyes scouring the page hungrily before she glanced up at him, he briefly second-guessed his sharing it with her.

"So, unfortunately this is the only Eluvian I am confident of anywhere close to our heading," Pointing to an upside down V symbol marked in blue just north of Minrathous.   
"The next closest is, as you can see, well into Qun territory."   
  


"I'll call Dorian," Chirping excitedly, as she fished the crystal from her bag.

"I am not certain—"  
"Dorian, my peach!"

"My little jewel, I was beginning to worry! It's been two week since you were in Sahrnia."  


"Yes, I know, I'm sorry! We had to climb a mountain," Waving one hand animatedly, "But oh, I wish you could see this place, it's unreal."

"Did you find the map you were looking for?"

"Yes, we've got it right here. Actually, that's why I called. The Eluvian we're using is going to spit us out about—Oh, what do you think, Solas?—An hour north of you?"   
  


"It is a small, overgrown shrine, easily overlooked. He may not be able to—"  
"Oh, I know just the one, it's got those archer statues on either side," Solas could hear the Mage grinning smugly on the other end.

"Yes," Unable to mask his irritation, "That is the one."

"Fantastic, Varric and I shall meet you there around dawn."

"Varric's there?" Raising the crystal to her face excitedly.   
  


"Arrived just a few days ago. Said he 'had a feeling' he should be in the area."

"Hey, Little Bit!" Varric's voice came through faintly; then, with markedly less enthusiasm, "Hey, Freckles."   
  


"Master Tethras," Politely.

"Hey Varric! Ah, I can't wait to see you both!"    
  


"Yes, it'll be a relief to see for ourselves what sort of state you're in," It was a pointed statement, but Halie merely laughed in response.

"See you in the morning! Kisses!"

"Kisses!" And with that, the glow faded from the crystal.

 

"I do not expect your friends are too terribly eager to see me," Frowning at his diverted little Da'Halevune.

"They're your friends, too," She frowned right back, "They're just hurt. Varric even made a point to say hi to you."

"Hm," Standing, glancing at her sidelong, "I suspect that was more for your benefit than mine. Now, I am going to the armory."

She scrambled off the bed after him, "There's an armoury?"

"Have you forgotten who's palace we are in?"


	17. The Fool

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Halesta and Solas, after a brief scrap with some slavers, finally make it to Minrathos. While Haletsa spends the day amongst friends, Solas feels strangely alone, and once again leaves Halesta feeling betrayed.
> 
> This chapter is named after the song "The Fool" by Ryn Weaver.
> 
> The intro memory has been included mostly to lend a little insight to Halesta's history, for anyone not previously or well acquainted with her.
> 
> Thank you so much for your patience and please accept my eternal apologies for how long this update took. I worked on it for two months, and it was a struggle sometimes, because it felt so much like a filler chapter? But it's not, I swear, it's got a lot of important details and foreshadowing. I hope it's worth the wait!!! Love and gratitude to all of you!!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Elvhen Translations:**  
>  Ma suranas - "My thanks", "Thank you"  
> Hahren - "Elder"  
> Da'Halevune - Little Moonfox  
> Lestun'or Halevune ma ghilana - "May the Moon Fox guide you"  
> Ar-melana dirthavaren - First half of Fen'Harel's secret passcode  
> Revas vir-anaris - Second half of Fen'Harel's secret passcode  
> 
> 
> * * *

> _ An old memory, so distant as to be unsure whether it actually happened or not. _
> 
> _ Halesta, barely a toddler, sits on her mother's lap. Dappled sunlight dances brightly over Laleal, who sits playing quietly at their mother's feet. Halesta is focused on her chubby fingers as they pull at the petals of one many Embrium flowers in her grasp. _
> 
>  
> 
> _ "Are you sure this was a vision?" Felassan, though he isn't visible, "It wasn't just a dream?" _
> 
>  
> 
> _ "I described him in detail, which seemed enough to convince you," Eliana's voice vibrates comfortingly through the child on her lap as she smoothes her curls. _
> 
>  
> 
> _ "Yes," Felassan concedes, "But you're certain of the events?" _
> 
>  
> 
> _ "You want certainty from Fate?" Eliana's laugh is teasing, but gentle and affectionate,  _
> 
> _  
>  _ _ "I am certain of what I saw. I am certain that Halesta will have the opportunity and capability to stop Fen'Harel. Whether or not it plays out the same as my vision is beyond my ability to reassure you, my friend." _
> 
>  
> 
> _ Halesta drops the flower in her fist, picking up another as Felassan comes into view, squatting beside her. She offers him the flower, smiling and babbling at the familiar figure. He smiles fondly in return, accepting the bloom from her chubby hand. _
> 
>  
> 
> _ "Poor child, destined to carry the fate of the world," Sympathetic, but somehow bestowing confidence, "At least she's got a headstart to prepare." _
> 
>  
> 
> _ Eliana hummed pleasantly, kissing the top of her daughter's head. _

  
  


* * *

  
  


After another night of Vallaslin dreams, of watching her heart break again, Halesta was in a sour mood even before she opened her eyes. Rolling over, feeling the tingling effects of the Fade slowly dissipate from her body, her lashes fluttered open against the tip of Solas's nose. He was already alert and watching her, as though he'd been awake for some time.

 

"Bad dreams?" Low voice still hoarse.

 

"Annoying," She corrected, lowering her gaze again; an attempt to conceal how carefully. she was skirting the truth.  

 

"Hm," Unconvinced, "You used to be a better liar."

 

"I'm still a fantastic liar," Purring as she stretched her limbs lazily, "When it matters."

Thoughtlessly, she relaxed back into him, returning to where her lashes brushed his face. He had been watching her, and while she couldn't quite place the look, her body recognized it. Heat blossomed in her belly, swiftly rushing up to flush her cheeks. She should look away....

 

"Is this strange for you? This, uh," Hesitating to use the word, "This intimacy?"

 

"Strange? No," A meaningful inflection, arching a brow, "It does, admittedly, surprise me on occasion how naturally it comes, as I have never been a particularly physical person. But, no. Strange is not the word."

 

"What then?" 

 

"It can be...difficult," That low, heady, amused tone, going straight to her head like a pain tonic.

 

"Difficult," All but holding her breath.

 

"To control some of the more, ah, presumptive," A distinct l curl to his lips sending her head swimming, "Or selfish impulses that accompany such a luxury."

 

She nearly laughed, "Luxury?"

 

They couldn't have been any closer without their faces actually touching, yet he managed to lean in closer still.

 

"Perhaps not for you; you have an inherent  affability about you," A wry smile in his voice, "For me, though, our easy familiarity is...beatific. Sacramental."

 

It took no little effort to repress the shiver that passed through her. The intensity of his stare, the weight of his words— Was that  _ sweat _ beading on her forehead? She tried to chuckle, as though merely sharing a good joke, but her throat was dry, and the sound emerged nervous and pebbled.

 

"It's too early for your flattery," Sitting up, desperate to increase the space between them, "It's liable to go straight to my head if I don't have some tea first."

 

What was she doing? Her body knew what it wanted; shit, even her heart knew what it wanted. But her mind couldn't commit. She could only imagine how confusing and frustrated Solas must be with her hot-and-cold behavior. Since when did she let the risk of getting hurt stand in the way of getting what she wanted?

But those dreams, the nightly recollection of his taking her Vallaslin, of his lying to her face—of his finally deciding that her love was not enough to sway him from tearing down the Veil— Surely those memories wouldn't just start up again without reason? For her subconscious to abruptly and repeatedly drag all that pain and doubt back up, it had to  _ mean _ something. It wasn't how her intuition usually worked, but...maybe risking her heart on him again was unwise. For Solas, she may be an indulgence, but he also might still just require her as means to an end. 

Maybe she  _ still _ isn't enough.

 

He continued to watch her carefully, but allowed her to stew in her doubts without comment or inquiry. She could feel his gaze on her like a gentle weight; something that, despite herself, she found satisfaction and comfort in. Wrapping her feet and scarred left arm in lightweight linen dyed black, to better blend in when they arrived in the city. Twisting her curls back into a low bun, held in place by a dangerously sharp hairpin. It would be better to take the tea he had prepared for her before changing clothes, so he had less excuse to stare at her so boldly. 

 

"Ma suranas, Hahren," Accepting the warm tin cup with a nod of gratitude.

 

"Is so much black required?" He sat across from her, sipping from his own cup that was no doubt mostly honey.

 

"Required? No," She smiled at his indulgence of her, as he certainly already knew the answer.

"The darker and richer colors one wears is a marker of status. The higher one's status, the less likely one is to be bothered by guards or Templars. Plus, I happen to think I look damn good in black."

 

He chuckled softly as she lifted her chin in her trademark defiance. She finished her tea quickly and returned to buckling on several discreetly placed knife sheathes.  Reexamining the stunning set of Ancient Elvhen daggers she had pilfered from Andruil's armory the night before did manage to improve Halesta's mood. Most would have to stay tucked in her knife roll, as it was unwise for an elf to walk around the Imperium with expensive-looking weapons strapped to her body. Turning her back to Solas, she swiftly pulled her shift off over her head, checking the sheathes before donning a common Dalish open-sided tunic. A sheer hooded veil and simple wrap belt, all lightweight to take the edge off the heat. When she turned to look at Solas, she was surprised to see how appropriately fine his clothing was. 

 

"Don't you clean up nicely," Mock curtsey received with a bow. 

 

"A high compliment coming from  _ you _ , Da'Halevune."

 

"Oh, shut up," Turning to pack her things to hide her blush, "We should get going."

  
  


All packed up, she followed Solas to the Eluvian hall...where all but three had been shattered. Judging by the way he was avoiding her gaze, he had something to do with this. The night she found the Memorillum felt distant and vague now, but recalling his panic upon discovering the visit from Falon'Din brought a small smile to her lips. 

Slipping through the cool surface of the Eluvian, they were abruptly set upon by the  heat of the northern dawn. From the altar podium, they could see the nearby coastline and, in the distance, the morning's first light breaking upon Minrathous and its busy docks. With barely a moment to enjoy the view, she already felt Solas place a warning hand on her shoulder. Aside from the calls of danger from the large seabirds circling far above them, there were no sounds of nature. Even the insects had fallen quiet at the noise of men grumbling nearby. Just as Halesta reached back to finger the mottled wood of her simple staff, a small group of humans appeared around the crumbling stone wall before them.

Slavers. About half a dozen. Most of them were Mages, she could feel the Fade reach for them, but they were too weak in their magic to bother carrying staves. Save the one furthest back, that is, in his gaudy, mismatched jewelry and threadbare finery. She guessed he was the leader, as he was the one to speak up.

 

"Looks like we got a couple a knife-ear runaways," Even his tone had a leer that made her skin crawl. 

"Fancy 'uns, too. Oughta fetch a pretty purse; Masters'll be grateful to have 'em back. Wrangle 'em up, boys, and put 'em with the others."

 

Halesta glanced sidelong at Solas to see him already watching her. She gave him a slow, impish grin before nodding at him. The men had split up to take them, flanking either side of the stair. The one on her left gripped the hilt his great sword tightly, but the tip dragged along the ground, too difficult for him to swing easily. She jumped onto his shoulders, grasping his head in her hands and twisting sharply with a sickening crunch. His body fell rather gracefully to the ground, allowing her to land easily on her feet. 

The next man was already barreling at her, sword raised from behind a small shield. She ran toward him, waiting until the last second to drop into a slide between his long legs. Popping up behind him, she pulled her staff over her shoulder. As he turned around he let his shield fall to the side, she slammed the butt of her staff into his eye— one of her favorite old tricks. Sweeping his legs from beneath him, she freed a dagger from her left sleeve. She bent, dragging the blade over his throat as the last man attempted to jump on her back...and went flying over them. 

She glanced up at Solas, catching his eye before nodding to the remaining slavers. He smiled, nod near imperceptible, and she slipped out of sight. The leader had gone back the way they'd come after ordering his men to grab them, and Halesta fully intended to free the slaves he had mentioned. Creeping through the lush, almost tropical foliage down to the shore, she found the group of elves and humans sitting shackled together. Their eyes went wide at the sight of her emerging from the brush, finger to her lips. She eyed the lock that held their manacles together; obviously magically reinforced, though not expertly. She gestured again for them to remain silent before placing her hands around the padlock and overloading it with her own magic until it crack in half and fell to the ground. 

 

"Hurry," She helped them slip out of their chains as quietly as possible, "Run, and don't look back. Go!" 

 

One of the elves, an older Dalish woman, hesitated before placing her hand on Halesta's cheek. 

 

"Lestun'or Halevune ma ghilana," The woman whispered emphatically, and then ran off into the shrubs.

 

Halesta placed her hand where the woman's had just been, baffled by the words. By the time she heard the footfall behind her, the Spirit blade was already to her throat. The slaver's leader hauled her up by her hair, pulling her head back to bare her throat as he inhaled the scent of her. He smelled foul: of shit and sweat and years of too much whiskey. 

 

"Do ya even know how much money you just cost me, ya little cunt?" His breath rank on her cheek.

 

"Fuck. You." 

 

"Heh, not a bad idea," She could hear his free hand wrestling with his belt buckles and trousers, a wave of nausea swept over her.

"I'm gonna get my money's worth outta you. And if yer a good girl and don't fight it, you might even enjoy yerself...."

 

At those words, something inside her snapped violently. She inhaled a deep breath, calm with rage. The Spirit blade dropped from her neck as the man behind her stumbled back, screaming. She turned, the picture of serenity, to watch as the man grasped at his own body. His screams so loud they filled her ears, desperate and excruciating, as his pants fell loose from his hands,  around his ankles. A wicked smile had crept over her lips, but she hadn't noticed. In her peripheral vision, she saw a figure stumble out of the greenery, but she didn't turn to look. Instead, with the subtle flick of her scarred wrist, she watched as her victim imploded, sending chunks of bloody body parts everywhere.

 

"What the  _ fuck _ was that?" 

 

She turned to see Dorian, looking both horrified and impressed, standing alongside Solas, and Varric, both of whom looked vaguely horrified. 

 

"Hey, guys," She smiled weakly before her knees gave out, and she crumpled to the ground.

  
  


* * *

  
  
  


"It appears you somehow manage to open a Rift inside his body," Solas dabbed the man's blood from her forehead, "Which, upon closing, cause him to implode."

 

"That's actually pretty handy" Varric raised his eyebrows, impressed, "Don't give me that look, Freckles. He was going to force himself on her."

 

"I am  _ in no way _ defending him, Varric," Glancing sidelong at the dwarf, frowning, "I am merely concerned, especially considering that she does not know  _ how _ she did it."

 

Halesta ducked her head sheepishly and, after sharing a cryptic look with Dorian, averted her eyes; a soft, nervous sound in her throat. Solas rolled his eyes with a sigh.

 

"Alright, what are you not telling me?" 

 

"Nothing really, it's just," Hesitating, she frowned at her lap, "He repeated something Falon'Din had said, almost verbatim—you know, the  _ first _ time. And I just, it just... happened."

 

Snapping her fingers for emphasis, her expression hollow and distant. Her friends looked confused, Solas felt a sickening weight settle in his gut. 

 

"What did he say?" His own voice sounding brittle in his ears.

 

"I don't care to talk about it any further, if you don't mind."

 

"Ah. Of course."

 

"The first time?" Dorian levelled a withering glare at him, "There was a  _ second _ time?"

 

"Only kind of. Don't worry," Halie waved a hand dismissively, "I'll tell you about it later. Can we get going? We didn't eat breakfast and I'm starving."

  
  
  


Solas, unsurprisingly, held various and largely understandable biases against Tevinter— But he had to admit, if only to himself, that Minrathous had a comforting familiarity. Except for all the humans and the touch of  Dwarven inspired architecture, it was vaguely reminiscent of Arlathan.... He suppressed a small shudder of disgust at the realization. 

Even upon passing the Juggernauts and entering the city's main gates, he noticed they drew a few glances of curiosity and suspicion. His gaze briefly locked with one elven slave woman, her fine clothes denoting she belonged to a wealthy family. 

Dorian led their small party through the maze of streets at the edge of the poorer district, to a house that had clearly been left in disrepair for some time. Dorian informed Halesta that his family had owned it for generations, but it had been almost entirely forgotten. He rediscovered it whilst looking over his family's finances after his father died.

 

"I would take you up to the Villa, but I thought you'd prefer to remain inconspicuous," He cooed at Halie while unlocking the door, "Which would be difficult now that my mother has moved from Ventus since the Qun invasion. She would likely spread news of your visit all over the city."

 

"How has your mother been holding up?" Halie's heartfelt inquiry surprised him.

 

"She's mostly unchanged. She threw a fit over my releasing our slaves and offering them paid work instead," Dorian rolled his eyes as they slipped, one by one, past him into the dark, dusty house.

"Through here is the formal dining room, which leads to a small sitting room. The kitchens are this way. After you've eaten, I'll show you to your rooms."

 

Halesta led the way to the comparatively bright kitchen, dropping herself dramatically onto a chair at the table. The windows were still boarded up, though it appeared that every-other board had been wrenched free, letting in the daylight. Before they were barely allowed a breath, the kitchen door was thrown open, nearly blinding from the sight as Lace Harding ducked beneath a cross plank of wood, humming a happy tune. 

 

"Inquisitor! I didn't think you'd all beat me back!" 

 

"Lace," Charter climbs in behind her fellow scout, handily wielding a basket of bread, "Lower your voice!"

 

The spy might as well have saved her breath, given the enthusiasm of the final figure to clamor through the door behind her. 

 

"Halie!" 

 

The man smoothly dropped the groceries on the table and hurled himself across the room towards her. Handsome, brown skin, freckles, bright smile. What was his name again? One of Felassan's friends, the twins—

 

"Somber!" Halesta stood and threw herself into his arms while he spun her around; Ah, yes,  _ Somber _ .

 

"You are more enchanting each time I lay eyes on you," He cooed at her while she bowed her head, blushing.

 

"You shameless flirt," Playfully swatting even while his arms remained around her waist.

 

Solas decidedly disliked this "Somber". His pleasantly strange, lilting dialect that made every word he spoke sound lascivious; the way he looked at Halesta like he wanted to drink her up....It wasn't as though  _ he _ was jealous of the way she flushed and sighed over his dimpled grins; Solas could have her flushed and  _ gasping _ , if he cared to. No. No, it was simply that he didn't care for the man's obnoxiously charming act. Oh, and if he remembered correctly, his sister—

 

"Where are Camber and Fel?"

 

"Oh, they're aboard the ship of Varric's pirate friend," A flitting, pale aquamarine glance pointedly in his direction, "Camber feels best to keep the Slow Arrow at a safe distance, given your companion."

 

_ —Hates him. There it is.  _ Unable to stop himself, Solas scoffed, swaying back on his heels with a shrug and rolling his eyes.  _ Try to tie up a loose string in your centuries-long plan when an old friend betrays you, and the traitor's new lover wants your skin for a rug. _ He regained his composure when Halesta nudged him in the ribs with a reproachful look. 

 

"Do not worry too much," Somber grinned smugly, "She'll probably forgive you eventually. Perhaps."

 

"Ah, good. I have been worrying myself to death. Now I can rest a little easier at night."  

 

His sarcasm was waved off with a laugh as Halesta turned her attention to the fresh-baked pumpkin bread in Charter's basket. As they ate and chatted, Solas slowly noticed how carefully they chose their words, while still never making complete sense. It was subtle; truly, it only initially occurred to him when he sensed there was more weight in the air from what was left  _ unsaid _ . This little group was being very cautious about letting him know any more than he already might. In a strange way, he was a bit proud of them.

 

Dorian led Halesta by the hand through the large, empty foyer and up the double staircase as Solas followed behind. They were shown their rooms; a bit dusty, but the bedclothes were fresh. Dorian offered to share his room with Halie, but, dropping her bag unceremoniously onto the bed, she declined with an easy shrug and a joke about leaving  _ Fen'Harel in the house unsupervised _ .

 

As the day went on, he continued in his near silence: merely standing or sitting somewhere out of the way while Halesta caught up with her friends. Harding, Charter, and Somber drifted in, out and around, sometimes leaving the house for a while before returning. Charter had certainly been through his things as soon as he'd left them alone, and no doubt more than once. He smiled inwardly at the thought of the spy's frustration, not finding anything new or useful in his bag. Luckily he'd had the forethought to tuck the scant few, ah,  _ delicate _ documents safely away on his person.  

 

Halesta briefly glanced his way, catching his eye with a small smile before returning her attention to Master Tethras. He suddenly felt strangely lonely, despite the company, despite her being right there. Her fingers danced absently over the hem of her dress, eyes bright and engaged with the sense of camaraderie. He found he missed her attention, her casual glancing touches, how close she often stayed, close enough that her body heat had become a reassurance. Thoughts of slightest pressure: her fingertips tapping on the inside of his wrist to draw his attention, tucking herself beneath his elbow in uncertainty or anticipation. But seeing her again amongst friends, leaning into every conversation, all hugs and touches and laughter— Even with those she hadn't spent so much time with, she was a very affectionate, physical being in that way. He could read a room just by the tension in her body close to his, but he couldn't read her mind, or her heart. Why did he want so badly for it to mean something, their ease, just the two of them?  _ Maybe this is best then, this feeling of distance. _ A reminder, to clear his head, that he must finish what he started. And aside, what if she hadn't forgiven him afterall? And aside, if so, did that change anything? Had it ever changed anything?

 

He was trying to side with his reason when evening set in, and they were suddenly all moving back into the kitchen. He had been too wrapped up in his own thoughts, he hadn't noticed until she was there, her fingers on his wrist, smiling up at him curiously. Reason took a heavy blow, and he followed her blindly to dinner. She stayed up late into the night, drinking and talking and laughing: he stayed up with her, drifting ever closer with every glass of wine and every acquaintance retiring to bed. He was relieved (and attempting to be mad at himself for it) when he was once more close enough for her casual touches and engaged looks. Sitting beside her, across the kitchen table from Dorian and Varric, it felt like old times. And then the subject turned to her abduction, and he didn't know what to do. 

 

"Really, I don't know how to describe it, not that I can even stand to talk about it," Her voice shaking, thick with tears she forced back. She stared at the glass in her trembling hands, any eye contact too painful when she was so raw.

"It was the most violating feeling, the most violated I can even  _ imagine _ feeling. Like my entirety, mind and body and soul, were stripped bare for him to try and twist and torture as he liked. In the most excruciating pain, and completely helpless."

 

Could he touch her? Hold her hand? Could he offer her that comfort, that apology? Was that allowed, now she was safely here among trusted friends? Did he dare? Dorian might just set him aflame, and not undeservedly. He didn't look at them. It didn't matter, she coughed to cover a sob, and his hand was on hers. She didn't flinch away or scream; no one did. He couldn't look at her, but he felt her eyes on his face. After a moment, she placed her other hand atop his with a gentle squeeze. _It's okay,_ _I'm okay._ But it wasn't, and she wasn't. His grip tightened. She just smoothed her hand over his and kept it there. 

 

They chatted a bit longer, about the Memorillum and perhaps visiting the market in the morning, before Dorian suggested they all get some rest. All agreed, saying their goodnights at the top of the stairs; Varric even spared one for Solas. As they parted ways, she looped her arm through his own, leaning her head against his bicep as they walked down the hall. The immense sense of solace that washed over him sent a painful jolt of embarrassment through his veins. 

 

"You know, I was just joking earlier," Waiting for the closing door to break the stillness, "About leaving you 'unchaperoned.'" 

 

"I knew it was a joke," He disentangled himself from her, taking off his robe.

 

"So, I offended you?" She was watching him, unmoving except to frown.

 

"No, not particularly."

 

"Then why'd you sit around sulking all day?" Crossing her arms, "I felt like I had actually put a lead on you." 

 

"I thought I would give Charter a chance to go through my things a few times, to make sure she didn't miss anything important," He smiled, more to himself that at her, "And anyway, what else had I better to do?"

 

Sighing with a heavy eye roll, she began unwrapping her shawl, tossing it atop her rucksack before removing her legwraps. 

 

"Although, since you brought it up," He turned to face her, sitting on the floor, "What is your real reason for choosing to stay with me?"

 

After a momentary look of wide-eyed surprised, she visibly hesitated: ducking her head and gaze, lips pursed, brow furrowed just slightly, deciding whether or not to tell him the truth. He was caught off-guard by her strangely shy, reluctant behavior.

 

"You're actually going to make me say it, huh?" Laughing wryly, shaking her head, "I've gotten used to sleeping beside you, okay? And I wasn't sure I'd be able to fall asleep without you."

 

"Well," Faltering for a moment, "I am glad we are in the same boat, then."

 

She glanced up at him through lashes and from beneath settled brow, slightly skeptical. He shrugged at her innocently, but she still looked rather unconvinced, or perhaps annoyed by her vulnerability. For whatever reason, he felt compelled to level the field.

 

"Truly. To be honest, I, ah," It was his turn to duck his head, "I missed you today."

 

She looked at him for a long moment while he steeled himself to be asked what he meant. But it didn't come. She stood and riffled through her bag while he waited in nervous, awkward limbo. She pulled off her tunic, removed her belts and knife sheathes, and slipped on her nightshift before climbing into the neatly made bedclothes.

 

"C'mon then," Mock exasperation as she patted the covers beside her, "Get in bed, then." 

  
  


Solas slipped easily into the meagre pre-dawn traffic of Minrathous. It was nothing, blending in among the stream of what, at this hour, consisted mostly of slaves, liberati servants, a handful of servus publicus, and no doubt a praesumptor or two. Allowing the crowd to lead him through the twisting thoroughfares of the poor district and neatening grid as they passed into the increasingly weathier areas of the city. By now, the flow of pedestrians had dwindled, and he was beginning to look out of place. But, of course, just as he might have considered himself lost, he caught sight of what he was looking for. A well-dressed, nicely cloaked elf, servant class, stepped out of a nearby alley.    
A sliver of moonlight broke through the shadowy streets to illume her face: one of his Lieutenants, the one that had caught his eye as he'd first entered the city.  _ Then _ he'd been pleased that his message had been properly received. Now, though, he felt the slight weight of uncertainty stir in his stomach. Nevertheless, he casually broke away from the trickle of people on the main street and, with the confidence of one doing just as they should, followed the servant woman into the dark alley. 

  
"Ar-melana dirthavaren," The woman muttered quietly, walking with a purpose and refraining from looking back at him as she handed him his disguise.

  
"Revas vir-anaris," His answer came as second nature, pulling on the servant's robes over the clothes he'd put on in careful quiet while Halesta had slept.

  
She wordlessly continued to lead him through tight, poorly lit back alleys until they stepped into a broad, empty street opposite a large, gated estate. A brazier burned brightly on either side of the gate, and a lone guard stood in front, propped up against his spear and snoring softly. The main house loomed high into the darkness behind. 

  
"The House of Danarius, Ser," She bowed, peeking sidelong up at Solas with a reverence that always made him a bit queasy.

  
"And the—?"

  
"The guard has been dosed, along with the rest of the house. You won't wake anyone, Ser," She handed him a large black key, grazing touch lingering a second longer than necessary, "Your men will meet you at the door and show you to the vault, Ser." 

  
"Thank you, Lieutenant. I will return briefly."

  
It was almost unnerving how easy it all was: unlocking the gate, breezing past the dozing guard, passing through the front doors, striding down the long halls as though he owned the place—all while the slaves and servants and masters slept undisturbed where they stood. His Agents led him immediately to the item in the vault. He had been displeased to learn that Gaius had traded it away for information that could have easily been obtained by other means. Luckily, his agents had made easy work of requiring the Red Lyrium Idol, and the Qun had spared him the distasteful obligation of having to dispatch of the foolish man. 

Within the hour, he had made his way to, in, and out of the Danarius estate. Having passed off the item in its special container for his Lieutenant to deliver back to his headquarters, he made his way back toward the Pavus safehouse in a pleasant mood. Once again, he had tilted the odds, and power, in his favor...or, rather, the favor of his cause. It had, at the very least, torn the dangerous object out of Falon'Din's grasp. It was a perverse kind of delight, the sort that would give one the strange and foolish impulse to whistle. But, before Solas could (if he had intended) wet his lips, Halesta stepped out from the shadowed doorway, leaving his mouth dry as dust.

  
"Where have you been?" The moonlight was bright here, and her crossed arms and sceptical gaze were clearly visible.

  
"I had to take care of something," Maintaining his composure, as though he had done nothing worthy of note or concern, "What are you doing up so late?"

  
She studied him sharply for a moment before something flashed across her face, as though seeing something he couldn't. Her eyes grew wide as she took a step back, she swallowed hard before baring her teeth, nostrils flaring. She  _ knew. How did she  _ **_know_ ** _? _

  
"Every time I think I can finally trust you," Breathing quiet rage, heartbreak, "You betray me again."

  
"What are you—"

  
" **_Don't._ ** Don't you  _ dare  _ lie to me, to my  _ face _ ," Her voice was hard as stone, cold and sharp as ice, "I can see it, where it's touched your magic. I can practically taste it in the air around you. After all we've learned about it? After all we've seen that it does?"    
  


He didn't speak. He couldn't. He didn't even realize the shame that had taken over his posture, the hang of his head, the slope of his shoulders, the wince at the corner of his eyes.

  
"You're still so determined to do this, then," An accusation, not a question, "None of this meant anything to you? Falon attacking me, telling me about Enara—"

  
"Not before we stop him," He was speaking too quickly, nearly stumbling over his words in desperation, "I would never have—"

  
" **Stop** , Solas. Just... _ stop _ ." 

  
Shaking her head, defeated, she turned toward the door. His heart ached so deeply, he wished it would break, if only for the relief from the building tension.

  
"Did I mean anything to you?" She tilted her head toward him, but didn't turn around, "Or have I always just been the means to an end?"

  
He fumbled for the words to correct her, mouth opening and closing, but nothing came out. She took this as an answer. With a broken sigh, she went back inside, leaving the door open for the darkness of the sleeping house to spill out onto his feet. 

After a long moment, he followed her inside, carefully closing the door behind him. He was baffled that she would allow him to stay after this, though admittedly, she still required him if she wanted to make it to Ghilan'nain's foci without his potential theft of it. When he returned to the bedroom, though, he found it empty of her, though her rucksack still remained. He climbed back into bed, hoping for the comfort of sleep. Unfortunately, guilt had its own plans for him.


	18. Repetition

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Halesta and Solas aren't currently on speaking terms, Halesta falls into a strange trap set by Falon'Din, and Dorian lays into Solas with some heavy considerations. 
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> This chapter is named for the song "Repetition" by Purity Ring
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> I'm pretty sure this chapter is going to read/flow terribly, since apparently I can't resist long-winded+one-sided dialogue, and I wrote a lot of it while I was very, very sick. But I know that if I spend too much time trying to fix it, it may never get posted, so: I am really, really sorry for any headaches, eye-strain, or "screw this" reactions that result from this poorly executed chapter. ily forgive me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **At this point, I haven't used any words you don't already know the translations for, except:**  
>  Vāh - A Latin interjection, used here as "Ugh!"  
>   
> Thank you babes so much for reading, and for being patient with me, and for enduring my horrible delivery. I love you.  
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> * * *

 

 

"So, he was successful?" Low whisper, standing close, eyes darting around the empty kitchen, on the lookout for eavesdroppers.

"The documents are secure and currently en route to Fel for analysis, and then to Laleal for safe-keeping," Terse nod, scanning the opposite side of the room, "We'll have word as soon as F can give us his best translation."

"And none of his fellow agents suspect?"

"Not so far. He's slick and subtle, and by the time they realize the research is missing, your sister will have it secured."

"Good. Thank you, Charter.  _His_  making it so easy for us almost makes me less angry with him. Almost."

Talking a small step back and a deep breath, Halie reached into the pocket of her tunic. Raising each sealed scroll as she mentioned them, she placed the letters into Charter's outstretched hand. 

"One for Leliana, and one for our new 'official' spymaster," Pinning the ginger elf with a stern look, "And do me the favor of not reading before sending them, hm?"

"Is that an order, Ser?" Charter quirked a ginger brow, smiling impishly.

"You said it, not me," She sighed, looking wistfully at the pretty spy, "You know I'm not a fan of giving orders. Calling them favors makes me feel like I can count you as a friend, instead of someone obligated to do as I say."

"Don't worry, Ser," Charter chuckled, reassuring, "You're still 'one of the people'. You've somehow managed to never get too big for your trousers, as Sera would say."

"Ha!" Rolling her eyes good-naturedly, "That reminds me, how's my sister?"

"Lady Laleal is blossoming as a Red Jenny," A pleasant grin spreading over her face, "It really does suit her nature better than being an assassin."

Mumbling her agreement, Halesta bit into one of the blueberry muffins Charter had just brought in, taking in the warm mid-afternoon light pouring in through the open kitchen door. Despite her underlying distress, she was determined to put her best face forward. The others hardly needed another reason to burn Solas at the stake, and as much as she'd love right now to light the pyre herself, for the time being he was necessary for a crucial and pressing mission. 

Speak of the Dread Wolf: he breezed into the kitchen, settling neatly into the shadowy corner at the room's far end. His eyes were on her, no doubt attempting to draw her attention, but she ignored him. Luckily it wasn't difficult, as Lace, Dorian, and Varric appeared almost immediately after him. Somber appeared at her shoulder within the next heartbeat, his warm hand gently placed at the small of her back. Like his sister, Somber's natural body heat was strange and nearly scalding, like a small sun burned just beneath his freckled skin. Despite the sweat that already beaded along her hairline from the soaring mid-morning temperatures, the warm pressure of his touch was a sort of comfort. Her resolve strengthened.

"Are we prepared for market?" Both he and his twin also shared a strange, often archaic and mismatched dialect that she, at least, found endearing. 

"I am!" She volunteered with a smile, glancing around to the others, eyes slipping smoothly off Solas as though he were a mere shadow.

"Me too," Harding her usual, sunny self.

"I'm in," Varric nodded and raised a hand, though he was still squinting sleepily.

"I'm staying here for the morning, I'm afraid," Dorian clapped his hands together lightly, "I never manage to find myself without paperwork to catch up on."

"I am staying, as well," Solas's voice came low and melancholy, giving Lace a start—either because she hadn't originally noticed him, or had forgotten he was there.

"All right, then!" Somber gestured brightly to the alley outside, offering his other arm to Halesta, "Shall we?"

"Let's," Accepting it, they stepped out beneath the blue sky with their company in tow.

 

Charter hadn't wasted any time before splitting off from their small group, and after some walking and chatter, they came across the roaring din of the busy marketplace. Ancient threadbare rugs overlapped across packed dirt, filthy and deteriorated nearly to dust themselves, under a seemingly endless frenzy of hurried feet. Everything that she could imagine was being sold by one or other of the seemingly infinite merchants. 

At one stall, Halesta and Lace took turns with Varric and Somber trying on different, and often strange, head-wear—that is, until they were driven off, giggling wickedly, by the vendor. She bought a sheer shawl, the color of midnight and embroidered with shimmering stars from one shopkeep. Purchasing various trinkets and baubles from other peddlers, some that couldn't afford booths, she was always careful to overpay where she could.  
  
  
The sun had reached its full height and the air itself was scorching when they decided to head back to the house. Halie dawdled behind, enjoying the sights and scents and sounds in her mild heat-induced delirium. Something eerily familiar caught her eye: wild silvery curls, falling long down a slender back, oversized blouse and brown leather trousers belted with a crimson sash, lilac eyes glancing knowingly back at her over a shoulder with a smirk. 

She stopped dead, watching this vision of her past self as it pressed a finger to its lips. Starting after it, she struggled to keep up as it weaved easily through the crowd, shooting her one last grin before disappearing into a side alley. Distantly, she could hear her friends calling her, but she was determined. She had broken into a run without realizing it, jostling passing strangers as she hurried after herself. Turning into the shadowy alley, she managed to glimpse the vision just as it fled around the far corner. 

It was a dead end that she had been led to, and standing at the terminus was not the phantom of herself she had been chasing. Some sort of Snake...Woman? Initially, she didn't quite understand what it was she was seeing, but with a little focus, she could make out a desire demon lurking beneath the strange image it portrayed. The demon smiled at her recognition, and slowly raised something to its lips. Halesta had a sense of what was happening, understanding that she should duck and run. But even as her instincts screamed at her to move, she didn't. The last thing she was aware of was a sharp stinging sensation in her neck, and the slow, warmth of a quickly encroaching darkness.

 

* * *

  

"DORIAN! SOLAS!" 

Varric and Scout Harding's voices overlapped at desperate volumes, and there was a shuffling commotion coming from the kitchen. They looked up simultaneously, the fear in Dorian's eyes as they met Solas's matched the cold shock running up his spine. The Tevene hurried out of his desk chair, and he followed the man's brisk gait toward the kitchen, but the others were already clamoring out into the foyer. Solas froze at the sight of Somber carrying Halesta's limp body in his arms. Everyone else had seemed to stay in action before Solas had recovered enough to form a coherent thought.

"What happened?" Dorian was already pressing his fingers to her throat, searching for a pulse.

"We are not certain—" Somber was visibly panicked.

"Come, through here," Dorian led the way back toward the sitting room, "Lie her down on the chase."

"We were heading back, and I realized she was lagging behind," Lace spoke directly to Solas, hands clasped white-knuckled over her heart, "And when I turned around, she was walking the other direction—"

"I called out after her. We all did," Varric appeared confused and rather shaken, "But then she started running...."

"We found her like this," Lace looked to Dorian now, wide-eyed and tearful, "in a dead end alley."

"This was sticking from her neck," Somber had set Halie down, and was now presenting a dart.

Solas took it from him carefully, looking it over carefully. There was little visible residue from whatever poison was used, but he could make out the acrid scent of Ghoul's Beard, the sweet floral and aquatic perfume of Blood Lotus, and the faint, almost minty note of Elfroot. He needed to know what else was in the poison now pumping through Halesta's bloodstream. His mind cleared of all but a single thought:  _save her_.

"Which of you is most knowledgeable on poisons?" He scanned the small group, but they glanced at each other helplessly.

"Probably me," Charter had reappeared, standing in the doorway, looking grim.

"We need to know what this was coated in," Urgently demanding, he offered the dart to her. 

"Her breathing is shallow but steady," Dorian bent down to smooth back Halie's hair, "As is her pulse."

"It appears to me that the intent here is not to kill her,"  _Please, let it not be to kill her_ , "But induce a coma. If Falon'Din is behind this, he is more interested in torturing her than taking her life."

"And we're just supposed to assume  _you're_  blameless in this?" Dorian spun on him viciously.

"I do not expect that," Could they hear his voice shaking? "But I hope you know better than to believe I would ever cause Halesta physical harm."

They all glanced at him uncertainly, but Charter set off toward the kitchen, which the others seemed to take as a cue to action. Varric and Dorian, both donning readers, were shortly skimming through various Alchemist's manuals, and Lace had fetched a cloth and bowl of cool water, dutifully dabbing the beads of sweat from Halie's forehead. Solas knelt at her side, steadfastly monitoring her vital signs, and silently praying to anything out there that might be listening....

_Please let her wake up. Please don't take her from me. Please let me make up for betraying her once again. Please, please, please...._

 

* * *

 

"The Veil is thin here," She could hear the excitement, the nerves in his voice, "Can you feel it on your skin, tingling?

When Solas had led her here, through the dark, damp and winding cave, only the reassurance of her hand in his own kept her doubt at bay. Now she took in the beauty of the gully: fireflies twinkling in the violet dusk, sounds of the small waterfall pouring into the pool below, and the effect of the water's reflection on the stones encircling it. 

It was lovely, and rather romantic, considering who had brought her. He led her to the pool's edge, taking both of her hands in his. She marveled briefly at his long, lithesome fingers and wide palms in contrast to the small hands they grasped. Solas was looking at her earnestly, but she could see the with anxious hesitation behind his eyes.

"I was trying to determine some way to show you what you mean to me."

"You could've asked me. I have plenty of ideas," Playfully, pleased at his chuckle. 

"I will take that under advisement. But, for now, the best gift I can offer is the truth," She quirked a brow, anticipation and hope swirling in her stomach.

"You are unique. In all of Thedas, I never expected to find someone who could draw my attention away from the Fade. You have become...important to me. More important than I could have imagined."

"You're important to me, too," His choice of words was strange, and concern crept up her spine.

"Then what I must tell you...the truth—" 

He was wavering. Perhaps he intended to finally admit his secret. Her heart rose up into her throat, beating with a vengeance.

"—Your face," She frowned as he floundered, grasping at straws, "The Vallaslin—”  
"In my journeys in the Fade, I have seen things. I have discovered what those marks mean."  

"They honor the Elvhen gods," Obviously.

"No. They are slave markings," He flinched slightly, "Or, at least, they were in the time of Ancient Arlathan."

"So this is, what? Just one more thing the Dalish got wrong?" Defensive anger bubbling up inside, humiliating.

"I am sorry," Looking sorrowful, and she sighed, shaking her head.

"We try to preserve our culture, and this is what we keep? Relics of a time when we were no better than Tevinter?"

"Do not say that. For all they got wrong, the Dalish did one thing right," Thumb beneath her chin, tilting her head up so she would meet his eyes, "They made you."   
"I did not tell you this to hurt you. If you like, I know a spell....I can remove the Vallaslin." 

"If what you said is true—"

"It is." She sighed again, swallowing hard.

"My people vowed never to submit to slavery."

"I am so sorry for causing you pain. It was selfish of me. I look at you, and I see what you truly are. You deserve better than what those cruel marks represent."

She sighed, closing here eyes for a moment to consider...but there was nothing to weigh. After all, her Vallaslin had never meant more than a rite of passage, right? Squaring her shoulders and lifting her chin, she looked up at him again with strength and confidence.

"Then cast your spell. Take the Vallaslin away."

He smiled at her with such tender, radiant pride, she felt her heart stutter. 

"Sit," Gesturing, and she obeyed.

He slowly raised his hands, smoothing them gently upward. Even through her closed eyelids, she could see their glowing with an increasing brightness. She could feel his magic: first tingling, then burning along the lines of metallic ink so meticulously needled into her skin over a decade before. When the light had faded, his hands continued until they were smoothing back her hair, the last of the magic effervescing away.

" _Ar lasa mala revas,_ " Breathed, though his voice was clear as a mountain spring, "You are free."

She felt a sudden shyness, somehow hyper-aware of her freshly bare face, even though she herself could not see it. Perhaps it was the way he was looking at her; eyes bright and shining, as though seeing her naked for the first time.  _No, that wasn't it._  More as though looking upon a painting long in progress, now finally finished. 

"You are so beautiful," That last thought stung her slightly and she ducked her head again.

He wasn't having it. Lifting her chin, his lips were on hers before she could even meet his gaze. His hand sliding down, wrapping around the back of her neck, thumb pressed to her throat; the other running down along her side and around, pressing against the small of her back, holding her against him. She was breathless, he inhaled the air from her lungs as it escaped. 

She clutched at his shirt with one hand, and at his jaw with the other. There was a desperation, a reeling hidden just behind his teeth that she couldn't account for....And just as she had fully leaned in to deepen the kiss, he retreated, separating them. She watched as his face, so vividly full of blissful adoration, of undeniable affection, slowly fell into sorrow, heartache.

"I am sorry. I distracted you from your duty," Looking away from her, expression hardened, "It will never happen again."

"Solas..?" She reached out toward him, but he took a step back, pulling away.

" _Please_ , Vhenan—"

He refused to meet her stare. All at once, the realization of his words, of what was happening, hit her like a blow to the gut. Fury coursed like molten iron in her veins, quickly rising to the surface. She charged toward him, indifferent to his advantages in size and strength.

"Tell me you don't care," Snarling low and dangerous.

"I...cannot do that," He flinched as she shoved him forcefully, stumbling back a step.

"Tell me I was just some casual dalliance," Shoving him twice more, meeting no resistance, "So I can call you a cold-hearted son of a bitch and move on!"

"I am sorry," Weak and barely audible behind her as she turned from him, but she felt no pity.

"Coward!" Yelling back at him as she stormed off towards the dark cave, "You're a  _ **fucking coward,**  Solas_!"

 

* * *

 

"I've got it!"

It was past nightfall, but Charter was sailing with grim triumph into the sitting room. They all looked up at her with desperate hope.

"It's a combination of Ghoul's Beard, Prophet's Laurel, Blood Lotus, Royal Elfroot, and Dragonthorn. Probably a few other minor things as well, but those are the main ones. It looks like Solas was right: the purpose is to keep her asleep. The active sedation wears off within six-to-eight hours, though, so she could theoretically wake herself up after that."

"Theoretically?" Varric put words to Solas's own faltering at the word. 

Charter flinched, "It's hard to tell with the Ghoul's Beard. Depending on how much of the poison it constitutes and due to her small size, she could go mad before she has the chance to wake up, trapping herself in her own mind."

Solas looked down into Halesta's face; he brow was furrowed and her lips pursed in dismay. Several times, tears had slipped between her long lashes, trailing down her cheeks. His throat tightened as a looming fear gripped him.

"Then the active ingredients will have worn off soon," Dorian's voice strained with forced optimism, "Is there any antidote we might give her?"

"I'm looking that up right now," Varric called over from Dorian's desk.

"It will begin to grow late soon," Somber looked ill, glancing around at the others, "Perhaps we should stay up in shifts to watch her?"

"Good idea," More forced optimism from Lace, "You look like you need to lie down, anyway. You too, Charter. Why don't I come get you in a few hours and you two get some rest?"

The pair looked at each other unwillingly, but Varric looked up at them with a gentle reassurance.

"You won't be any help if you're too worn out," Warm, stress-weary smile, "Grab something to eat from the kitchen, and then go get some sleep."

There was a long period of nervous silence after the pair left. Dorian had returned to assisting Varric in the search for an antidote.

Solas stayed at Halesta's side, monitoring the slight fever she had developed; Lace remained at his elbow, darting off occasionally to refresh the water bowl or rinse the sweat-soaked rag. She even once placed a fleeting hand of consolation on his shoulder as she made another trip.

"Here, this has gotta be it," Varric raised a tome eagerly for scrutiny.

"It's closer that anything I've found so far—" 

Dorian looked down his nose through his spectacles, studying the page, before glancing up over them at Solas.  
"Show Solas, see what he thinks."

 Varric passed the book to Lace, who held it up for his inspection. His eyes carefully skimmed the recipe, searching for anything that might damn it as futile...

> ******Lunacy Torpor Treatment Tincture:  
> ** As the Lunacy Torpor poison is uncommonly used, especially in the modern age, the struggle to determine a proper antidote has long-vexed even the most renowned of Thedosian Alchemists. Thus far, the closest remedy to have been discovered is a treatment that, if administered within the first twelve hours, may assist the poisoned in overcoming any lingering Ghoul's Beard toxins, potentially allowing the patient to avoid remaining trapped in an unconscious state. This treatment, unfortunately, does not guarantee the patient will still possess all of their mental and emotional faculties when, or if, they wake. If the patient has not awoken within 16 hours of being poisoned, any chance of their ever doing so is unlikely. This treatment has been shown to be entirely ineffective when administered to Qunari, some* elves of Dalish lineage, as well as any Grey Wardens following their Joining.  

> ***** Not all Dalish elves are unaffected by the tincture. No certain factor has yet proven to determine which Dalish elves are immune to the treatment, especially due to the rarity of these poisoning cases, and unwilling nature of the Dalish to interact with civilization where scholars might study them further.

> **Tincture Recipe:  
> ** **•** **Embrium**  - 3 green buds, crushed, mixed with purified spirits, and simmered into resin.  
> •  **Spindleweed**  - 1 gram, powdered, boiled with distilled water. Add Embrium resin, heat over open flame until achieving a fluid of thin viscosity and vibrant orange color. Remove from heat.  
> •  **Orichalcum**  - 2 drops. Add to resulting fluid, stir with glass wand.  ** _Allow to settle for at least 1 hour before ingestion!_**  

  
"Well, it is better than nothing," With a sigh of resignation, "But I am concerned by the amount of time required to prepare."

"I do happen to have powdered Spindleweed, a vial of Orichalcum, and purified alcohol in the house," Dorian offered, Solas bit back his sarcasm.  
"But I'm missing the Embrium buds."

"I'll get them," Harding spoke up, determined, "An old lady a few streets over has some in her garden. I doubt she'll even notice they're missing." 

The men all shared a look of uncertainty, but technically, Lace was a trained and skilled rogue. She was the obvious choice.

"Alright," Varric conceded, "But please, Harding, be careful. If anything goes wrong for you, between Charter and the Nightingale Divine, there'll be nothing left of me."

Lace nodded, confident grin on her kind face, before swiftly exiting the house.

 

* * *

"The Veil is thin here," She could hear the excitement, the nerves in his voice, "Can you feel it on your skin, tingling?

When Solas had led her here, through the dark, damp and winding cave, only the reassurance of her hand in his own kept her doubt at bay. Now she took in the beauty of the gully: fireflies twinkling in the violet dusk, sounds of the small waterfall pouring into the pool below, and the effect of the water's reflection on the stones encircling it. It was lovely, and rather romantic, considering who had brought her.... 

And yet, it all seemed undermined by this strange, creeping sense of dread. Solas was looking at her earnestly, but she could see the with anxious hesitation behind his eyes. Halesta felt a sinking weight, heavier than lead, in the pit of her stomach.

"I was trying to determine some way to show you what you mean to me."

"You could've asked me," Attempting playful levity and he chuckled, not seeming to notice the nervy edge to her voice, "I have plenty of ideas." 

"I will take that under advisement. But, for now, the best gift I can offer is the truth," Looking away briefly, before pinning her with the intensity of his gaze.  
"You are unique. In all of Thedas, I never expected to find someone who could draw my attention away from the Fade. You have become...important to me. More important than I could have imagined." 

"You're important to me, too," His choice of words was strange; something like fear crept up her spine.

"Then what I must tell you...the truth—" 

He was wavering. She felt sick; her heart beat violently in her throat.

"—Your face. The Vallaslin. In my journeys in the Fade, I have seen things. I have discovered what those marks mean." 

"They honor the Elvhen gods—"

"No. They are slave markings," He flinched slightly, "Or, at least, they were in the time of Ancient Arlathan."

"So this is, what? Just one more thing the Dalish got wrong?" Defensive anger bubbling up inside; humiliating, but still sensing the worst was yet to come. 

"I am sorry," Looking sorrowful, and she sighed, shaking her head.

"We try to preserve our culture, and this is what we keep?" Beginning to feel as if she she were reading from a script, "Relics of a time when we were no better than Tevinter?"

"Do not say that. For all they got wrong, the Dalish did one thing right.... They made you."   
"I did not tell you this to hurt you. If you like, I know a spell....I can remove the Vallaslin." 

Suddenly, she felt certain of what he would say next, what was about to happen. It was déjà vu, but with an impending sense of fear.

"I am so sorry for causing you pain. I look at you, and I see what you truly are. You deserve better than what those cruel marks represent."

"Then cast your spell," Automatically, though her voice was audibly shaking now, "Take the Vallaslin away."

He smiled at her with such tender, radiant pride, she felt her heart sink into her stone-heavy stomach. 

"Sit," Gesturing, and she obeyed.

The increasingly bright glow of his hands through her eyelids as he smoothed them over her face. The burn of his magic along the lines of her Vallaslin.

" _Ar lasa mala revas,_ " Voice was clear as a mountain spring, "You are free."

Tears pricked at her eyes, unbidden. She fought them back, swallowing thickly. Her mouth was a desert, arid with apprehension. 

"You are so beautiful," Affectionate ardor, but the words rang hollow in her ears, despite the the evidence of honesty in his eyes.

When he kissed her, she had known it was coming. It was a farewell kiss, though he didn't know it yet. The passionate sincerity of his lips on her own, she felt a shatter in her chest, thin as spring ice. Almost numb, watching as his face, so vividly full of blissful devotion, of undeniable love, slowly fell into sorrow, heartache.

"I am sorry. I distracted you from your duty.... It will never happen again."

Loud enough to be audible, that sinking dread finally snapped. She had known it was coming, though that didn't ease the excruciating pain of her breaking heart.   
  
But she had known. _  
__How had she known?_

* * *

  

The treatment administered, Harding and Varric were sent off to bed with the promise to wake them if there was any change. Solas was left in the flickering glow of the fireplace with Dorian. Dawn felt a long way off with only bitter silence to expect, at best; only slightly more daunting was the prospect of Dorian's cutting remarks and venomous accusations. It was as much as he deserved, he knew. Still, the Magister had always possessed a skill for getting under his skin, even when most others failed. 

He sat on the floor before the hearth, holding fast to Halesta's listless hand. It reminded him of when he first saw her: when the Seeker brought him to the cells beneath Haven, her soporose little form facing a different threat to her life. As he did then, he drank in the sight of her. The messy nest of curls haloing her Moonskin face, the crease of her troubled brow and the pout of her lips. The long lashes kissing her cheeks that he silently pleaded with to flutter open, to wake up.

He started, feeling a hand on his shoulder. Dorian stood at his side, an offering of tea in his outstretched hand. There was a hint of pity hidden beneath his carefully blank expression. Solas accepted the mug, murmuring a quiet thanks. He was further surprised when the man, having given Halesta a brief once-over, joined him on the floor. He sat near Halesta's feet, looking absently into the fire.  
  


"The fallen bit of Veil over Seheron has caused some interesting developments." 

"Oh?" Dorian's sudden attempt at conversation catching him very much by surprise.

"Mm. Both the Qun and Tevinter have all but declared full retreat. Between the spirits-turned-demons, and the...extreme changes in geography, it's become more than either is equipped to handle," Pausing to take a sip of his tea, "The Fog Warriors are apparently adapting quite well, though."

Solas hummed in uncertain amusement. Was it his turn to make small talk? Should he ask about Bull? Or was this information merely intended to amplify his guilt? _Well, nothing ventured...._

"How is the Iron Bull?" After all, his hope for the Tal Vashoth's well-being is sincere.

"He is well, thank you," A tight expression, understandably wary of him, "Enjoying mercenary work with the Chargers."

"I am glad to hear it," Catching Dorian's dubious glance, "Truly, I am. Despite the circumstances, I wish happiness for all of you."

Dorian sighed, reached behind him for the kettle he'd left on the side table. There was a long, tense silence as he refilled his mug and took a few sips. Solas placed his hand to Halie's forehead, affirming no rise in her fever. 

"You know, I really don't understand you; throwing everything away, throwing  _her_  away, for some misplaced sense of fixing what you broke. Especially when you must know you'll fail."

Solas looked at him, leaning against the chaise, watching him with such pity. Dorian  _pities_  him. 

"How do you believe I will fail?"

"Just look at history, as a whole," Waving his hand, "What society has replaced another without absorbing most of its culture, structure, or traditions?"  
"From what I can surmise, aside from the Veil separating our world from magic and spirits and the Fade, Ancient Arlathan sounds an awful lot like Tevinter. Slaves, lands ruled by powerful mages, corruption and greed and subjugation of the masses. All that was wrong with the world is the reason you raised the Veil, no? And you were certain something better would take its place, only to find disappointment when it happened all over again. So you'd do the same thing again? Isn't that, as they say, the definition of insanity." 

Solas stared at the Magister in stunned silence. Seizing the opportunity of his silence, Dorian continued.

"This plan of yours is not a solution. Society never learns. It makes the same foolish mistakes over and over. It takes a lot longer for the world to evolve into an enlightened state. Even longer, I imagine, when time is of little meaning to the people meant to be evolving. What urgency is there to make a difference in your lifetime, when that lifetime is immeasurable?" 

Admittedly, he may be onto something. Everything had taken longer,  _much_  longer, for the Elvhen. Arguments, accords, even sex.

"And, present company excluded, I'm betting figures of inspiration were few and far between," Dorian smiled bitterly, "Truly amazing, how complacent people can get when there's no deadline or awareness of possible change. At least now, there are more people, powerfulandcommon people alike,  _trying_  to make things better."

"Ah, but you do not know the pain of waking to find you have created a world of Tranquil," Dorian should, at least, sympathize with that.

"I can't pretend to imagine how that feels," Briefly compassionate, "But that isn't justification for destroying Thedas. You said it yourself,  _you are not a god_. Not truly, anyway. What makes you the one to decide that this world is wrong? What makes you the one to decide these lives don't deserve to continue? Is it simply because you have the power to do so?"

"All that is wrong—the dissolution of the Elvhen, the treatment of the southern mages, the slavery here—"

"I agree, but,  _again_ , there are people working to fix these problems. Anything that changes instantaneously is almost guaranteed to be destructive. Storms, earthquakes, fires. Some good may come of it in the long-term, but that tends to be  _ _in spite__  of the destruction, not because of it. So, wiping everything out, on the off chance that things will be better the next time around? Those odds aren't good and certainly aren't worth the mass suffering that would result."

Solas's confusion as the words sank in must have been evident. Dorian was shaking his head, looking at him with wide-eyed bewilderment.

" _Vāh!_  It's simple enough, Solas! If you do unforgivable things with good intentions, for logical reasons, with hope that it'll all work out, it doesn't make your actions any more forgivable. You're as fallible as the rest of us. You have to change, to grow. Learn from your mistakes, damnit!"

"I do not believe myself infallible. Halesta, more than anyone, has proven  _that_  time and again."  
  


"To be honest, that's what eludes my comprehension the most."

"What is?" His anxiety rising as Dorian straightened, turning to face him more directly. 

"Her," Nodding at Halesta, "And you. You act like you're martyring yourself for the greater good of your People, but it also happens to be at everyone else's expense. Including the  _one_  person in all of Thedas that's determined to change your mind, to save you. Despite it going against her every instinct, against all the advice she's received, and against all practical reason. You know, when she first met you, she was determined to kill you; but along the way, something changed."   
"I remember how confused and frustrated she was about it. How she thought if she let herself love you, and loved you with all that she is, just _maybe_ you'd give her—give this world—a chance. She wants  _so much_  to be enough for you." 

He felt ill. It wasn't just guilt: he'd failed her. He was continuing to fail her. The one person who believed in him.

"And  _ **you—**_ " Dorian looked at him reproachfully, "It's obvious that you love her. You aren't worried about Falon'Din using her against you. You're worried that he'll hurt her again, you're torturing yourself for not being able to prevent him hurting her the first time. And you know, I think you're scared he'll kill her. That, or that she'll die trying to protect you."

 "She deserves to live the rest of her life as comfortable and safe from me as is possible," Averting his gaze, gritting his teeth to hold back the anguish.

"So, you'd be willing to die for her, but living for her isn't an option to you?" Dorian pinned him with incredulous outrage; Solas had never witnessed such overt fury from the man before.  
"I get it now. You don't  _want_  her to keep believing in you. You want her to stop loving you, to let you go; maybe you even want her to hate you. That way, if and when you let her down, you'll have been  _ _right__. That's what you really want, the last word. You know, for someone who hates himself and refuses to believe himself worthy of love, you have an insane need to be the  _'one who told you so'_." 

"This is not about something as trivial as my pride," Hissing through his teeth, "This is about saving the Elvhen, saving my People."  
  


"Genocide," Deadpanned, "It's about genocide, with no guarantee of your hope for the restoration of the elven empire. Do you hear how repulsive that sounds? How hypocritical? It's very Qun of you; but at least the Qun isn't inherently racist."

"How  _dare_  you. I have already conceded that non-elves are people too—" 

"Just not people enough to make you reconsider wiping them out in favor of your  _'superior' Elvhen_ ," Dorian leaned toward him, rage so barely contained that, although the man was no match for his power, it somehow scared him. 

" **This**  is the core of my issue with you. You have told Halesta, numerous times, that she is not a real elf, not one of  _your_  People. You have told her she was special for capturing your regard, with the implication that it was in spite of her being somehow 'lesser'. You deride her heritage, her culture, her very existence. You make her doubt her worth—when it's you and your Elvhen that aren't worthy of  _her_. You _,_ apparently, can only see one group as worthy of a second chance.  _She_  sees value in everything, believes that all lives hold merit. Even  _yours_."

Solas sat in stunned silence. Everything Dorian had said was true. He found no words, no argument that could be made in the face of what had been said.  

"I don't understand how or why she can love you, especially after everything you've said and done, all the times you've betrayed her, after you've broken her heart more times than can be counted," Dorian sighed, shoulders slumping in weary capitulation.  
"Unfortunately, if this woman still loves you, and still holds hope for you, I've no choice but to believe you are deserving of it. My faith in her demands it."

 

* * *

 

"Ar lasa mala revas—" 

_This has happened before...._

"You are free—"

_He's removed her Vallaslin before...._

"You are so beautiful—"

_And he's told her that before....  
_ _And they've shared this exact kiss before...._

She watched as his face, so vividly full of blissful adoration, of undeniable affection, slowly fell into sorrow, heartache. 

_Oh no....  
_

"I am sorry. I distracted you from your duty," Looking away from her, expression hardened, "It will never happen—" 

  
" **WAIT!** " Holding up her hands, looking around, searching for something but uncertain of what, "Solas, wait a second!"

" _Please_ , Vhenan—"

"We've done this already!" She grabbed his arm, eyes still searching. 

"What?"

"We've done this whole thing before," Meeting his baffled stared with urgency.

"What have we done before? What do you mean?"  
   
"Your trying to tell me the truth about being the Dread Wolf, chickening out and telling me about the slave markings instead, the spell, the kiss, ending our relationship," Hands gesturing wildly, something finally clicked, "The whole thing! This has already happened." 

  
He froze at the mention of his alternate identity, panic flitting across his face. She could see his mind trying to puzzle it together and coming up short.  _This_ part had never happened. 

"Listen, I think we're stuck in some sort of loop or something." 

"Loop? How do you mean? Time magic?"

_That's right, that shit at Redcliffe was only a year or so ago at this point. Wait, what point in time am I using for reference?_

"No. No, it's something else," She pinched the bridge of her nose, trying to remember....

"I do not understand. If it is not time magic—"

" _Shh!_ Give me a second, I'm trying to think," Holding up a finger, voice strained with frustration.   
  


He obeyed, standing in quiet confusion while she paced back and forth, tapping at her temples. She wracked her brain, and slowly, images began to trickle in. The Eluvians. Defeating Corypheus. Saving the Orb. Solas fleeing. Felassan's return. Mastering the Anchor. Spies in the Inquisition. The Exalted Council. Qunari in the Winter Palace. Facing Solas in the Crossroads.  
Disbanding the Inquisition. Searching for Fen'Harel. His failed removal of the Veil. _Andruil's palace...._

"The Memorillum," Muttered under her breath, connecting the final dots.

There was a distant creaking sound, faintly reminiscent of crack in glass as it slowly spreads, latticing out.

"Memorillums? How—!" The panic in his voice was rising.

_Click._

  
"Falon'Din!" Turning excitedly to look at him, "It's a memory! We're in a memory!"

The sound grew louder, clearer, closer.

_Wait. The alley. The desire demon. And he was with Dorian...._  She looked closer at Solas, who seemed to splinter under the scrutiny of her stare. _  
_  
  
"No.  _I'm_  in a memory." __  


There was a sound, like a mirror shattering, a blinding starburst of light—  
  
 

Halesta bolted upright with a gasp, met immediately by startled screams.


	19. Act Naturally

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Falon'Din receives some good news and some great news, while Dirthamen endures his Brother's less pleasant delights.
> 
> This chapter is named for the song "Act Naturally" by Royal Teeth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Translations of Mangled Garbage:**  
>  Vallas- Set, as in setting of the sun; used here as a name  
>  Ma Nadas - "My Inevitably", referring to the inevitably of death   
>  Lethanavir - Friend of the Dead, another name for Falon'Din  
> Lathem - Beloved  
>  Da'len - Little one
> 
> * * *
> 
>  

"I beg your grace, Master," Embrace knelt at his feet in blatant fear, "I've failed you. I don't know how she figured it out, but she did. She escaped the memory."

 

Falon'Din, lounging churlishly on his throne, regarded the demon with boredom and the usual vague disgust. With the tip of his boot, he pushed it back, sending it reeling while clamoring to right itself.

"Good," A tone that could suggest exasperation if it didn't sound so bored, "That was rather the point."

"But," Eyes flickering to Dirthamen, detached and unreadable, "I thought you wanted to keep her trapped in her mind, to go mad?"

" _ Pah _ , as if I'd pass on the opportunity to torture her by sending you," Sneering, he raised his chalice to be dutifully refilled by Vallas, "And trapping her in her unconscious body would take all the fun out  _ that _ ."

"Then...?" The demon had a lot of nerve to speak to him with such insolence.

"It was to reinforce her distrust of Fen'Harel, driving them further apart," Leaning forward, baring his teeth in warning, "And watch your fucking tone."

Embrace bowed apologetically, glancing once more to Dirthamen. Falon almost smiled openly at this. The Keeper of Secrets was becoming clearly more intangible than he had been previously. Vallas had done his job well, even managing to recruit some fresh worshippers for his Master. He had already begun to feel the power of their devotion strengthening him. Lethanavir mused momentarily on perhaps rewarding the feeble old elf.  _ Oh, that reminded him— _

"Now make yourself scarce, would you?" Waving his hand lazily, "I don't need you unsettling any of my new disciples."

With a hiss, the demon returned to its preferred, serpentine form before slithering away. Embrace had clearly forgotten the nature their relationship; Falon flicked a bolt of lighting at her tail, causing just enough pain to remind her. Once more reclining in his seat, he snapped for his servant, gesturing for the man to come stand before him. The frail old thing obeyed, eyes vacant. 

"Vallas, has our infiltrator returned with my gift yet?"

"Yes, ma Nadas," Bowing deeply, ever monotone, "Forgive me. I presumed you would first wish to hear of the demon's progress."

"Worry not, Lathem. You were correct," Falon'Din cooed with iniquitous anticipation, "I want the time to really  _ savor _ this prize. Show the child in, would you?"

 

As Vallas shuffled off to fetch the supplicant and their offering, Falon quirked his head, smirking to Dirthamen. He could see his Brother's doubt and displeasure, even beneath his mask of infinite composure. No one knew Dirth as well as he, no one could read his blank expressions or predict his thoughts as Falon'Din could. Unfortunately, it worked both ways; after all, Dirthamen held  _ Secrets _ . Not that it mattered, as he remained trapped, and Falon's plan could go on, unimpeded by his Brother's strange new reluctance to action. Still, sometimes his lack of verve was irritating.

"You don't think I can manage the power," Still smirking, though it was somewhat forced.

"I do not think to is wise to use this source," A subtle shake of his head, an even tone, "I am concerned you have forgotten the effect on Andruil."

Falon waved his hand dismissively, " _ She _ didn't know what she was doing. She didn't even understand what she had found."

Dirthamen sighed silently, but was apparently willing to cede the point. His eyes flickered up past Falon'Din, watching Vallas re-enter with detachment. He swiveled his head to look, the wide-eyed elf woman stared at him, mouth agape, hands grasping white-knuckles around a strange container. She froze in place as he met her eye.

 

" _ Lethanavir _ ," A squeaking breath, "It  _ is _ you!"

"Yes da'len, it is I. Come," Cooing warmly, beckoning to her, "Let me have a look at you."

She came to stand in front of him, visibly shaking, as he stood. Mouth opening and closing wordlessly. She was unimpressive, even by the standards of these modern elves. Nevertheless, he stroked a hand affectionately over her limp hair, lifting her chin so she was forced to look at him. The pure awe and fear in her eyes was almost too delicious. He grinned.

"And what's this you've brought me, my darling?" He gestured to the container she clutched for dear life against her chest.

"O-oh!" Holding it up to him, bending onto one knee, "The Red Lyrium Idol, ma Nadas, as I promised."

He nearly flinched, the way her clumsy mouth fumbled the Elvhen tongue. Still, he rather enjoyed her dramatic gesture of offering. He smiled grew wider. Taking the vessel from her, he opened it to see....And there it was, alone, in all its twisted, macabre beauty. It glowed red, brightening slightly as he held it up to his face. He could feel its heat radiating against his face. Delightedly, he resealed it, handing it to Vallas. 

"Rise, my pet. You have done very well," Again stroking her hair when she stood again, "And the documents?"

Her face fell, panicked, "D-documents, ma Nadas?"

"The research documents?" Expectantly, but still gentle.

"I-I don't know, Ser," Shaking her head frantically, ducking her head, "I thought they were in with the Idol, I—"

Closing his eyes for a moment, Falon sighed before smiling again, patience intact. 

"No matter. We'll get them," Placing a hand of tender reassurance on her cheek, "No doubt they were simply overlooked."

 

She looked up at him with tentative relief, "So, you're not angry with me?"

"Angry? Why, of course not. You've been most helpful."

"Then, I can serve your cause?" Hope in her bright eyes; he relished this moment.

" _You?_ Ha! Oh, no no no, darling," Chuckling with affectionate amusement and dripping condescension, "You're a traitor!"   
Patting her cheek and grasping her chin, "You betrayed Fen'Harel for me. What if you were to change your mind?"

"N-no, ma Nadas, p-please!" Beginning to cry as he looked on with mocking sympathy, "I swear, I would never betray you!"

"Oh, my sweet child," A comforting embrace hid his perverse grin as he purred into her hair, "I simply can't take that risk."

She only managed a whimper before the nauseating sound of a crack echoed through the stone room— Falon snapped her neck in one smooth motion, allowing her body to drop heavily to the floor with a sigh of satisfaction. Rolling his shoulders, he sauntered back to his chair, coolly winking at Dirthamen.

"Was that really necessary?" His Brother, eternally expressionless,  _ almost _ appeared to grimace; although he did frown slightly in distaste.

"No," Falon, smirking, resumed his flippant lounging, "I just felt like killing something."

 

With a casual gesture, he cast a black fog around the woman's lifeless body. Almost as if she were inhaling it, the cloud entered her nose and mouth; slowly at first, then all at once. Nothing happened for a moment, but gradually the body began to rise. Climbing to its feet, it stared blankly as it awaited its orders, the black mist swirling in its eyes. Falon flicked his wrist, and it meandered out of the room to join the others in the crypt. 

"Vallas, be a dear and place the Idol in my quarters," Reveling in the warm gratification that settled over him, "But first, I think I'll have some more wine."


	20. Turn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Solas stays up with Halesta and helps her through the rest of the night. Halesta spends the next day in haze of conflicting emotions.
> 
> Chapter is named for the song "Turn" by The Wombats (feat. Dagny)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **The Usual Translations:**  
>  Hahren - Elder; used here as a teasing endearment  
> Da'len- Little one, child; used here as a teasing endearment  
> Ma surannas - Thank you, my thanks  
> Ma nuvenin - As you wish, as you please  
> Da'Halevune - little Moonfox  
> Ir bre'abelas - I am deeply/intensely sorry  
> Vhenan - my heart  
> Harellan - Trickster; used by the Dalish to mean "traitor to one's kin"  
> 
> 
> * * *

Grasping a strong cup of tea in both hands, she sat across from him in her usual pose: tiny feet tucked beneath her, changed into her nightshift and a shawl borrowed from Lace around her shoulders. He watched her stare blankly into the hearth’s roaring flames. Since waking from her coma with a gasp—startling yelps from both Dorian and him—Halesta had been reluctant to fall asleep again. Exhaustion finally saw Dorian to bed and, while she'd seemed pleased when Solas offered to stay up with her, she’d remained nearly silent.

She felt his gaze on her: he knew she did, she always does. He took in the sight of her with renewed vision. Dark circles lingered beneath her haunted eyes, where the faintest hint of wrinkles had begun worrying their way into the outer corners. A new scar on her brow that he hadn't noticed before. Full lips slightly parted, wetted and chapped and split. The wild mess of her hair; tangled curls having grown so quickly as to now fall just past her shoulders.  _Mythal help him,_ he loved that hair. Her hair, and her eyes, and those tiny wrists, and her hair and her hair and her hair.

_"You have told her she was special for capturing your regard, with the implication that it was in spite of her being somehow 'lesser'."_

His thoughts were still reeling from Dorian's dressing-down, the Magister's words now a harrowing echo in his head.

" _You make her doubt her worth—when it's you and your Elvhen that aren't worthy of_  her.... She  _sees value in everything, believes that all lives hold merit. Even_  yours."

It was true. He had told himself otherwise, but she surpassed everything he had once believed invaluable. It was not her beauty, either; that was was simply a pleasant side benefit. It was the way her mind worked, her unwaivering persistence, stubborn hope, unshakable determination to make a positive difference. Her indomitable spirit. There were no Elvhen gods, and perhaps there was no Maker, but Solas had found proof of divinity in this flawed and death-bound thing. In this fragile mortal, this woman that he loves. His Vhenan.

"You're thinking me green, Hahren," Her voice was so soft, hoarse from disuse; he nearly thought he’d imagined it, "Or is it blue?"

 "Silver, actually," A whisper, "And gold. Opalescent."

"Ah," Still staring at the fire, barest suggestion of a wistful smile on her lips, "So you're thinking about my hair."

He paused... "Why are we speaking in prose?"

"Are we?" She looked at him momentarily, letting out a soft, solitary laugh, "I don't know." 

She turned her gaze back to the fire and there was a stretch of silence that felt somehow premature. He had so many questions. All she'd said to Dorian was that it had been a trap, that she had been trapped in a loop. ' _To what end?'_  Dorian had asked, her response so curiously indifferent: ' _To no end. He failed. It's done.'_  That had punctuated the discussion, she had no further interest in discussing it. No doubt she wouldn't care for his bringing it up now....

"I apologise for pressing the matter, but I must admit, it is weighing heavily on my mind—"

"The dream?" Her wide, candid stare worried him; was he upsetting her?

"Well, yes," Ducking his head apologetically.

"It was a memory loop. Like the Memorilum, but in my mind," Explaining patiently in gentle tones, "The night in Crestwood, in the grotto. Started when we exited the cave. Ended when I stormed off. Over and over and over."

Imagining a whitehot lance thrust between his ribs, piercing his heart straight through, leaving him speechless. Imagining he could feel it still beating around the searing iron, a metallic taste on his tongue. She watched him sadly as he sat there, an open mouth without words to spill. And what's worse, he knew that look: sad because it hurt him, made him feel guilty to remember. She wasn't sad for herself.

"I'm guessing it was an attempt by Falon to bring that anger and hurt back," Half-shrugging, appearing suddenly fragile.

_And, did it?_  He wanted to ask; instead, "Would you like a bath? You were running a fever earlier...."

She looked rather surprised. Almost smiling, she nodded. They stood, he placed his robe over her shoulders. Candle in hand, he led her to the long-abandoned servants' bunk room, with its large metal tub and meager fireplace. He started the fire before filling the bath, the latter made easier with a pump in the room. She didn't seem to mind the floor was half cracked tile and half packed dirt, watching him without any sense of urgency. It was quicker to cast a spell to heat so much water; his magic shimmering over the still, clear surface before slowly sinking in. Turning his back as she undressed, he waited for her soft,  _"Okay"_  before sitting on the floor facing her. He didn't quite know what to do with himself, trying not to outright stare at her. 

"There was Ghoul's Beard in that poison, huh?" A deep inhale after briefly submerging her head, slicking her hair back, "everything aches."

"There was, yes," Smiling weakly, "I feared you would never wake, or when you did, that you would no longer be yourself.

"Ha! I don't know him as well as you," Wry and slightly bitter, "But Falon'Din seems the type that prefers his playthings fully lucid and aware while he torments them.

"Unfortunately, that is quite accurate," Flinching, he hesitated. "...Halesta, I cannot express the depth and sincerity of my regret for having exposed you to all of this."

She folded her arms over the lip of the tub, resting her chin atop, and arched a brow.

"Who else could've handled all this with my quality of natural grace and  _'indomitable focus'_?" Teasing, a slow impish grin.

"That is more than fair," Dropping his gaze, suddenly bashful, eager to change the subject, "How did you break the spell of the trap?"

"Well," Sighing, she mused, "Things started feeling more and more familiar after a few times 'round. Or a few dozen. I have no way of knowing, I guess."

"You mean," Brow furrowing, unsettled, "You did not know it was a memory?"

"Nope. It felt entirely real for awhile. Then, I started feeling this dread, like I just knew something bad was about to happen. Next, I knew what you would say before you said it, and I felt like I was reading a script, like we were in a play."

"Experiencing those same emotions over and again," Solas shook his head, "I cannot imagine how painful—"

She laughed sweetly, "I'm pretty sure that was the point, Hahren."

"Of course," Hesitating again, "So, what then?"

"Well, that last time around, it finally occurred to me that it had already happened, several years ago. You had already gotten to the 'distracting you from your duty' bit when I interrupted you. You should have seen your face when I told you I knew the foci was yours and that you were Fen'Harel...."

She did her best impression of his shock before erupting into quiet giggles. He couldn't help but laugh too. Back then, if she had stopped and told him what was to happen in the next few years, he would've been dubiously horrified. Nothing would have turned out the same, and now he wondered if that would be for the better or worse.

"At first you thought it was more time magic, like at Redcliffe, or one of my visions," Settling into a soft smile, "But then I said something about it being like the Memorilum, and I thought your head would explode."

"It would have been quite terrifying at the time," Nodding solemnly, "To hear how much you knew."

"That was essentially what broke the loop, realizing that it was a memory," She pulled a bittersweet face, "And that I was alone, you weren't in it with me."

"I am so sorry, Da'len," Hanging his head in shame.

"Honestly, I'm not. Falon might have been a tad successful if you  _had_  been," Grinning, "Though we definitely would've puzzled it out in a fraction of the time it took me alone."

"Perhaps, although I think you overestimate my cognizance," She tilted her head in unspoken query, "You have always been exceptionally perceptive. Uncannily so."

"It's the eyes on the back of my head," Joking casually, as though he hadn't broken her trust again just the night before.

"Not to seem unsupportive, but I am grateful that I was not in the memory with you," Lowering his gaze, "If only for purpose of enduring Dorian's reproach."

"I can't tell if you're being sarcastic," Her smile held a twinge of disappointment, "You're really  _that_  proud of surviving a tongue-lashing?

_Oh._  The distant, vaguely bitter look on her face was a weighted rope around his throat, and it was sinking him quickly. He took a ragged breath.

" _No_ —That is to say," He wondered if his face betrayed the desperation he felt, "He gave me a lot to consider....And brought to light some of the ways I've thoughtlessly hurt the one thing that keeps the last cinders of hope I hold for myself aglow."

"Dorian?  _My Dorian?_ " Understandably surprised and doubtful, "You are telling me that Dorian Pavus said something that gave you geniune pause for thought."

He chuckled, "Yes, and I know what you are thinking,  but I better see how much more there is to him than the Painted Peacock he plays for the world."

"He's very intelligent and compassionate, but he's spent his entire life on his guard. His sarcasm and superficiality are a shield,"  Slouching slightly into the water, thoughtful and affected, "He has a beautiful soul."

"He is in good company, in that regard."

She didn't reply, and the only sound he heard her make for a long moment was the gentle sloshing of water as she fully submerged herself again. The quiet lasted for long enough that he began to worry. He lifted himself slightly to see her floating, face up with eyes closed and slow, measured breathing. The tip of her nose and the blush of her lips and nipples were all that broke the surface; instantly he felt as though he had taken something she hadn't given, lowering his body and gaze. 

"Don't act so ashamed, Hahren," Her voice echoed gently off of the tin tub, still floating out of sight, "It's nothing you haven't seen before, and if I was weird about your seeing it again, I'd have asked you to leave."

 "I only intended to make certain you were okay, Da'len," Slightly defensive, embarrassment coloring his tone and face.

"I know," A whispered tenderness...."Hey, what'd Dorian say to you, anyway?"

"A lot. He obviously spend the past few years considering it. I doubt that he managed to say everything he wished before you woke."

"Ha, I'm sure," Sitting up, wet curls weighted into waves, plastered against her neck and shoulders, "Well, I'm glad  _someone_  made an argument compelling enough that you'd openly admit to thinking it over."

Her words had a vaguely bitter edge to them, but her expression as she turned around was delicate and cautiously hopeful. Taking up the same pose as before, arms draped out over the edge. Droplets clung to her face, dew on a moonflower, shimmering crystals caught in her lashes and lingering on her lips. She was watching him pensively, usually wide eyes now heavy-lidded. Even in her quietude, seeming somehow reckless and winsome. She looked a little holy, and a little broken, gazing at him like a crack in her favorite teacup, unsure what to do. 

"I'm ready to get out, now," Finally freeing him from her scrutiny, "Is there a dry cloth about?"

"I will go find one," Standing, hands shaking, "Ir abelas, I should have thought of it before."

The fire was low, leaving only the faint flicker of rust-red light dancing over the hearth. Solas made his way back toward the main part of the house, humid air on the cool tiles giving his steps a sticky feeling. Bright moonlight pouring in through the seams of the boarded windows, helping him to find a towel in a pantry off the dining room. He quickly made his way back through the dark halls, watching Halesta's silhouette rise from the water at the sound of his approach. Averting his eyes, she chuckled as he offered her the towel, and the sound of her struggle to step over the bath's high walls. She tripped, hitting her shin with a metallic clang— 

He turned automatically, catching her against his chest, still naked and dripping. 

 

* * *

 

He was right there,  _right there—_ his body so close she could feel its impression in the air between them, like a sheet over carved marble. Holding her slightly away as she righted herseld, but still.... All that separated them was a whisper and the thin linen of his shirt. His form could have been draped in a cloth, wrapped in a death shroud, for the ache it stirred in her heart. But maybe it was  _she_  that was prepared for burial: her body bare and freshly bathed, anointed with oils. Perhaps it was her death shroud between them. He was looking down at her, but her focus was locked on his lips, chapped and slightly parted in surprise.

"Sorry—" Muttering clumsily, though her body had frozen.

Gaze still focused on his mouth, how close it was, how it twitched slightly in wordless response, in want of something unspoken. That ache in her heart grew louder with every quickening beat, filling her ears with the sound. So loud, he must have heard it too, she was sure; a flickering glance into his eyes, so dark with their pupils blown wide. Hands on his shoulders pulled him down, as she rose up on tiptoe. 

Kissing him was impulse, a desperate salve for an invisible wound. Soft and slow but lingering. The taste of promises, and promises of broken promises: of grudges and forgiveness; of heartbreak and rage and  _need_ ; and of, most intensely, the one feeling she didn't dare name. Fingertips trailed up her spine, gathering her still-soaked hair in a tight fist at the base of her skull. Briefly cradling her face before skimming down her arm, the other hand finally settled with uncertain hope on the small of her back. He followed her lead, though, and allowed her gentle retreat without resistance. Taking a moment to savor it, she wrapped the towel around herself before slowly opening her eyes to his anxiously searching her face. She smiled but it felt feeble, the melancholy seeping through from where it had taken root in her bones. 

"Ma surannas, Solas," Voice only gravel and breath, "Would you mind lying in bed with me? I'm still feeling a little weak and I want the darkness."

"Ma nuvenin, da'len," With a genuine, almost tearful smile, he scooped her up into his arms.

Leaving the last tongues of flame to burn out, and her clothes where she'd piled them on the floor, he carried her back to their room. Shushing her objections, he lit the candle on the side table; turned her back to him and taking the damp cloth, he helped her into her nightshirt. He sat her on the bed, climbing up behind her to fingercomb her damp curls and plaiting them low and loose. It all only took a few moments, but she was grateful when the candle had been extinguished and her head was resting on his chest. 

"Da'Halevune?" His fragile whisper like a distant violin.

"Mm?"

"You are, have always been, of the Elvhen. Your People are my People," Unexpected, the depths of grief in his voice, "I do not believe I will find a way to make amends to you for believing otherwise.  _Ir bre'abelas, Vhenan_."

"I..." She hesitated, voice shivering, "Thank you, Hahren."

_I love you, Harellan. You idiot. You absolute bastard. I love you, and you keep breaking my heart—_  

He had settled into a wounded silence, and once again she acted on impulse. Tilting her head back, she placed a kiss on his jaw. A sharp intake of breath, the flex of his throat as he swallowed. The steady thrum of his heartbeat and the room's undisturbed darkness eased her back into her thoughts. Still too unnerved to sleep, she allowed her aching body to relax, mind turning over the emotional torment she'd woken from. Letting Falon nurture resentment and distrust between them was not an option. On the other hand, Solas couldn't seem to curb his compulsive self-sabotaging. She trusted him with her life...just not with anything else. And that hurt. 

But, what did that matter? She enjoyed the hurt, though she knew that was sick. She also knew that he loved her, even if it was in the wrong way; the way a rogue prefers a particular knife to their others. As long as she was there, she knew, he would love her. There was no hope, she held no delusions that she would survive this. She'd already cheated death more than her fair share. And death would come to collect soon, she could feel it. So, what did it matter if she let herself love him? What was she losing, really? Didn't she deserve to feel some semblance of happiness when she was so quickly running out of time? 

After awhile, she had stopped bothering to think; letting her emotions tussle just beneath her skin, waiting to see which came up on top. It wasn't until hearing the soft sounds of Charter stirring down the hall (this early, it was  _obviously_  Charter), that Halesta even realized dawn had broken. Aware suddenly of the first rays of daylight, leaking in through the curtain seams and slanting across her eyelids. The early birds chittered loudly outside, with an assigned sort of cheer that she found inexplicably irritating. Gently sliding off the bed, she wrapped her shawl around her shoulders and quietly headed downstairs for some tea.

"Hey! It's good to see you up and about again, Little Bit," Varric's voice softly pulled her from her thoughts. 

A pleasant, if strange, sense of gratitude washed over her at the sight of him in the doorway, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. The worry in his eyes disappeared when she smiled deeply, a heartfelt smile. Almost able to see the relief pour over him: a humbling, happy reminder of how genuinely her friends cared for her. She could never claim to be unloved. 

Varric was refreshingly blunt with his curiosity. Preparing his own tea, he joined her at the table and began peppering her with questions.  _What happened? What was the dream of? Why would Falon choose_ that particular  _memory for torture? What, did she think, was this guy's goal?_  She filled him in as he sat, eyes now wide as he attempted to absorb it all. When she finished, they fell into mildly horrified silence. Absently, she stirred her tea with her spoon, a dim and distant bitterness creeping over her.

"If Falon  _really_  wanted to upset me, he could've just had me relive every time Solas called me "Inquisitor" after that night, all cold and detached," Hollow laugh, still watching her tea swirl.

"Or those moments when he actually did speak to me. Always quick with his cutting remarks, sometimes bordering on cruel.  _That_ , that's what would've  _really_  made it hard to be around him." 

"You know as well as I do that he only sniped at you because he was hurting too," Ever the voice of gentle reason, "Constantly sorrounded by reminders of you, having to face your anger and sadness on a daily basis, all the guilt... Shit, I'd lash out too."

Nodding, she was thankful for the patience in Varric's expression. She understood the whys, but that didn't ease the lingering sting. Sighing, she wilted over the table.

"You know, sometimes I would think back, and tell myself, 'If he really ever loved me, or even cared at all, he would've lied. He would've said he never loved me, and that it'd all been some sick game at my expense.' I think I could have survived that. And, at that point, I figured he could spare another lie." 

Movement in her periphery caught her eye, but she had a feeling already of who it was. A subtle glance revealed only the tip of a nose, a shirt sleeve, and toes of one foot peeking around the doorframe—Confirming her suspicion: Solas was standing out in the hall, eavesdropping. She ignored it, taking a sip of tea before finishing her thought. 

"Telling me he cared, but not enough to tell me the truth. Not even giving me a chance when had I been giving  _him_ countless chances. He must have known, right? That I was  _still_  giving him chances, even after—" Hesitating, trying to swallow the melancholy, "Well, anyway...." 

Varric patted her hand comfortingly, "He screwed up, it's his thing. I mean, I'm the same way. I seem to screw up everything I touch."

"You're touching me right now," Joking with a chuckle, "What does that mean?"

"Oh no!" Grabbing the sides of his head in a play of distress, "I've ruined you!"

They laughed, their feigned panic finally luring in the lurking Solas. "Good morning"s were traded and she smiled at him as he tried to act casual, a sweet touch to the top of her head as he passed. Varric watched him for a moment longer before turning to Halie with a soft, knowing smile. Solas sat beside her and began pouring an obscene amount of honey into his tea; she and Varric shared a look of amused distaste. 

"I thought you hated tea, Freckles," Baiting, Varric grinned.

Solas shot a quick withering glare at him, "These days, it is hardly possible to keep up with Halesta without it, detest it as I may."

"Do you have trouble getting to sleep?" Frowning slightly over her cup. 

"As I am often quite exhausted when such scant opportunities for rest arise," A wry sidelong smirk at her, "It has not yet become a chronic concern."

A short laugh, with a wink from Varric, she nearly blushed. Luckily Lace rushed in, throwing her arms around Halesta's shoulders in blissful easement while thanking the Maker. After a momentary, breathless speech about how worried she had been about her, she glanced around the table curiously.

"Has Charter not dropped off the groceries yet," Harding heading toward the kitchen door, "Or didn't anyone think to check? Ah, here we go. I'll make breakfast. Ham omelettes, biscuits, and porridge sound okay?"

Retrieving a basket of eggs, cream, and a few other groceries from the doorstep, she busied about the stove and pantry, while the table resounded their agreement. Halesta settled back in her seat contentedly, stifling a small yawn. It took a few moments for her to look around and realize they were missing some people. 

"Are Dorian and Somber sleeping in?" Varric shrugged at her.

"Oh, Somber's up, he's just practicing his reading. He's made a lot of progress, you'd be proud of him!" Lace called over her shoulder, still whisking eggs, "I don't bother Dorian if his door's closed. He is  _not_ a morning person."

"He and Solas were up all night with me. He deserves to sleep all day, if he needs to."

Varric grinned, "Don't encourage his leisurely tendencies. We're only just starting to re-break him of those bad habits."

"Oh, shut up," Dorian himself emerged in the doorway, hair mussed and kohl smudged under his eyes, "No more talking til I've had at least two cups of tea."

 

The rest of the day passed in a haze. She had been present, if only physically, while plans were made for the next stage of their trek: Carastes for a brief stopover with Dorian and Varric—the other three were remaining in Minrathous—before setting off to find Ghilan'nain's Foci with Solas. Her mind had wandered off ahead, dwelling on traveling with Solas alone once again. Admittedly, she felt a little apprehensive about it. Tension would only grow between them the closer they became to attaining the Foci. Distracted, she drifted through the early dinner, pushing her food around her plate. When everyone had finished and set to packing, she finally excused herself.

Shuffling upstairs and closing the bedroom door behind her, Halesta felt almost relieved. No one had given nightshirt and shawl a single remark or second glance all day, but she felt oddly embarrassed by it. Passing by their bags on the floor, one of Solas's light sweaters caught her eye. She changed into it before curling up on the bed; even inside the house was too warm and balmy for heavier clothes, but the Ghoul's Beard was still in her system, giving her chills. The warmth wasn't what she was after, anyway. Back to the door and knees drawn up to her chest, she tucked the sweater cuffs in her fists and pressed them to her face. The scent of cedar and old leather bound books, Elfroot and black pepper,  _his_  scent. It was such a comforting smell, and for whatever unnameable reason, she needed that comfort now.

She had seen her mother once since her death, in her dreams. Well, kind of a dream. Not a memory, not a demon's illusion, but her actual Mamae. Neither she nor Eliana could explain it. Even Solas, 'Master of the Fade', was baffled. Admittedly, they hadn't wasted their time together speculating; their reunion had been a fleeting moment of comfort. Now, as Halesta lie in bed, she wished she could ask her mother for guidance. Mamae had Seen how this would all play out— Well, one possibility, at least. But even if she'd steered herself too far off course,  _any_  advice from Eliana would be invaluable now. She wished for it as she dozed off, but held no expectations or hope that such a strange, unfathomable experience should reoccur. 

_Goldenrod, ochre, apricot._  She made her way up the bricked stairs, slightly winded, as though she'd been climbing them for too long.  _A_ _mber, marmalade, ginger._  They seemed to go on infinitely, curving up forever into the trees without ever reaching any height.  _Honeysuckle, nutmeg, mustard, sienna._  The sunlight fell languidly on the path, though the sky and treetops were hidden by _—is this mist or fog?_  And in this surreal, unchanging forest of persimmon and rust, Eliana walked ever onward. Every time Halesta would climb the next step, to unveil her Mamae from the brume, she would be just as many stairs ahead, glancing back over her shoulder with a soft smile for her daughter. 

Halie had called out to her several times, but Mamae kept going. If she hurried up the path, Eliana would still appear to maintain that same distance between them. Finally, she was to short of breath, her legs too weak, to go any further. It wasn't likely Mamae would respond now, but she couldn't understand the meaning, the point behind all of this.

" _Mamae_ ," No louder than a whisper in her panting breath, resting hands atop knees and near to sobbing, "Mamae,  _please!_  I don't  _understand_ —"

" _Then why do you continue to follow?_ " 

Eliana's voice, clear as crystal, though when Halie looked up, she saw her mother had only turned around, hadn't closed the distance at all. Tears of frustration burned in her eyes, while Mamae just smiled with loving sympathy. 

"You've Seen what I'm supposed to do! You know!" Calling out louder than necessary, "Please, Mamae, tell me what I'm supposed to do!"

"Follow your intuition, Halesta. You alone will know what to do and when to do it."

"Do I really have to—" Frustrated, floundering, desperate, "I mean, how am I supposed to tell the difference between my intuition and my emotions?"

Eliana tilted her head wryly, "I said you will be the only person capable of stopping him.  _How_  you stop him is your decision."

Head in her hands, laughing so she didn't cry; Mamae wasn't even trying to help. She was no less confused than before. In a softer, gentle tone, Eliana's words cut through the mist, a tender lift of her chin to draw her eyes.

"You've spent too long chasing this idea that I had all the answers, that you were meant to do things a certain way," Her mother offered an encouraging smile before gesturing back down the stepped path.

"Maybe you've been heading the wrong way."

Halesta turned around. Solas was climbing the stair, about the same distance away from her as Eliana. He called after her, looking confused as he squinted through the fog, apparently unable to see her. She glanced back toward Mamae, but she had disappeared.

Waking in surprise, a slight calm washing over her as she found Solas sleeping beside her. His brow furrowed, mouth frowning in concern. Smiling to herself, she reach out, placing her palm on his cheek, smoothing the crease from his brow with the thumb. He didn't stir, but a look of relief passed over his face.


End file.
